Florida pastor detained in massive immigration crackdown


If you live out by the Little Manatee River, in the swamplands south of Tampa, Florida you probably know the name Maurilio Ambrocio. He’s an Evangelical Pastor at a local church, he’s lived here for 20 years. He also owns a landscaping business, tending the lawns and yards in the neighboring city of Fort Myers.  

And a few weeks ago, he was detained in President Trump’s massive immigration crackdown, which Florida Governor Ron DeSantis has promised to fully partner with – in fact he’s pledged to make the state the lead on the government’s deportation campaign.

News about Pastor Maurilio’s detention spread fast.

Churchgoers, the majority from Central America, walk into the Evangelical church that the Ambrosia Gonzalez family run, Sunday, May 11, 2025, in Tampa, Florida.

Jason, 9, leans on a palm tree as two girls run through the field after church service lets out, Sunday, May 11, 2025, in Tampa, Florida.

Johns says he was beside himself. His eyes water as he recalls when Hurricane Milton hit last year. Ambrocio checked in on him immediately. “Do you need propane?” he asked. “Do you need water? What do you need? That’s the type of neighbor [he is]. This man is a part of the neighborhood.” Like many in this small rural community, Johns voted for President Trump last November. In fact, he did so at Ambrocio’s church, which doubles as a polling station. I did.” He hesitates. “Because I was not happy with the direction the country was going.” He says he was hoping migrants in the country without papers and with criminal records would be targeted. But he says he never expected a pillar of the community like Maurilio Ambrocio would be taken away.  “You’re gonna take you know a community leader, a Pastor, a hard working man… What, did you need a number that day?”

That day was April 18th.

But on April 18th, he was detained by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents.

Ashley Ambrocio Gonzalez cries as she speaks with her dad, Maurilio, who is in detention, in Tampa, Florida. Maurilio left Guatemala over twenty years ago and is a pastor at an Evangelical Church, supporting his wife and five children. Family pictures of the Ambrocio Gonzalez family hang in their home, Saturday, May 10, 2025, in Tampa, Florida. (Lexi Parra for )

For the Ambrocio family, the Pastor’s detention has been catastrophic.

“For my kids, it’s like the world ended,” Ambrocio’s wife, Marleny says.

They have five children, all U.S. citizens, ages 12 to 19.

Marleny herself has been consumed by grief. As she fries an egg for breakfast, she says she dreams about her husband most every night.

Marleny washes the dishes in her home, Saturday, May 10, 2025, in Tampa, Florida.

Lexi Parra/Lexi Parra for

Last night, she says, he knocked on the door of their trailer home. He’d bought her a perfume.

“He started spraying it on me. I giggled and said, ‘Maurilio, when did they release you?’ He didn’t respond. He just looked at me silently.”

And then she woke up, to the very real problems her husband’s detention has saddled them with.

“How are we going to eat?” She asks. “How are we going to pay the bills?”

The only one bringing money into the family now is 19 year old Ashley Ambrocio, who is juggling several jobs.

When she gets back home from work, she goes for a walk out to the field, away from the trailer and her mother. A thunderstorm is approaching. The cicadas scream, and a hot breeze runs through the Spanish moss.

Spanish moss hangs off of a tree in front of the Ambrocio Gonzalez home, Saturday, May 10, 2025, in Tampa, Florida. The Ambrocio Gonzalez family pose for a portrait outside of their home, Sunday, May 11, 2025, in Tampa, Florida.

“In the car. It’s always in the car,” she says. “Before going to work or after work I just feel stressed because of everything and I just start crying there.”

Her cell phone rings, it’s a video call from her dad at the Glades County Detention Center in Central Florida.

He’s lost eight pounds, he tells her. He’s been sick with a fever – a bug is going around the detention center. He tells her that hasn’t stopped him from preaching on the inside.

But he wants to know about the family landscaping business.

Have you spoken to the customers? Laura? Frank? Has she scheduled any jobs?

In the background of the video call Ashley can see the blurred silhouettes of other detainees.

“You have no idea how crowded it is here,” he tells his daughter.

Ezdras Ambrocio Gonzalez practices a song on the piano for Sunday’s church service, Saturday, May 10, 2025, in Tampa, Florida. (Lexi Parra for )

Churchgoers pray during service at the Evangelical church Sunday, May 11, 2025, in Tampa, Florida. The service focused on celebrating the mothers in attendance, as well as Maurilio Ambrocio’s continued detention in an immigration facility. (Lexi Parra for )

By Sunday the thunderstorm has arrived.

In a low voice, Esdras wonders if his dad will be back soon. “I wouldn’t know what to do without him,” he says. “He’s like a best friend to me. Yeah.”

Families file into the pews. It’s a small space, wooden pews and bright red carpet.

Most of these churchgoers have lived here for more than a decade, and almost all of their children are US citizens.

In Maurilio’s absence, a guest Pastor, Oscar Hernandez, takes prayer requests. From around the room, women list husbands and sons who have recently been detained by ICE or the Florida Highway Patrol, which Governor DeSantis recently announced will be playing a greater role in enforcing immigration. Most were arrested on their way to work.

A few of the men cry silently.

Outside the rain is starting to come down, the air feels dense, and dewey flushed faces look anxiously toward the Pastor. He tells them he wrestled with what to say today.

M. prays next to a U.S. flag during church service, Sunday, May 11, 2025, in Tampa, Florida. M., Maurilio’s wife, continues to have faith that he will return home, although the family is preparing for a worst-case scenario. (Lexi Parra for )



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