In the early morning of Jan. 3, the residents of Caracas, Venezuela’s capital city, were jolted awake by sounds that began a citywide panic: Explosions and gunfire from unidentified aircraft began at 2 a.m. and continued for more than two hours.

While many rushed to the streets to begin recording the spectacle of military helicopters crossing the Caracas skyline, WhatsApp messages started flying across the world between worried residents and their families, many of them living abroad among the eight million people of the Venezuelan diaspora. “¿Qué pasa? ¿Estás bien?” (“What is happening? Are you all right?”)

Social media reports quickly confirmed that the explosions meant serious business: Military sites in Caracas, the Fuerte Tiuna, a military compound where President Nicolás Maduro had been living in recent weeks, and La Carlota Airport, where Venezuelan military are stationed and anti-aircraft defenses are located, had been bombed. Both military sites are close to Caracas residential neighborhoods, where some casualties have been reported.

A clearer explanation for the explosions that woke the city finally came from a message posted by President Donald Trump on Truth Social at 5:21 a.m. U.S. forces had launched a military strike, dubbed “Operation Absolute Resolve,” with a stunning outcome—the capture of Venezuelan President Nicolás Maduro and his wife, Cilia Flores, and their removal to U.S. soil. On Jan. 5 in New York, they faced criminal arraignment for drug trafficking and other offenses.

A deeply concerned Pope Leo XIV implored peace and constitutional order in Venezuela in the aftermath of the U.S. raid. Venezuela’s bishops also issued a brief statement: “In light of the events that our country is living through today, let us ask God to grant all Venezuelans serenity, wisdom, and strength.”

In their statement, Venezuela’s bishops rejected all forms of violence and asked that decision-makers both in Venezuela and abroad keep the good of the people at the forefront of their agendas.

An eerie calm in the aftermath

The shock ending of Mr. Maduro’s 13-year reign, a period plagued by many U.N.-documented human rights abuses, immediately produced contrasting images of the Venezuelan people.

While members of the Venezuelan diaspora in Europe and the United States celebrated Mr. Maduro’s capture, in Caracas, residents contemplated the morning’s events in an eerie silence—neither public celebrations of Mr. Maduro’s arrest nor demonstrations demanding his release were evident in Caracas neighborhoods in the immediate aftermath of the American incursion.

Isabel Velásquez, 72, a retired engineer, lives in Santa Fe, a middle-class neighborhood near the American embassy. “Where do we go from here?” she quietly wondered, while waiting in a long queue on Jan. 4 for a chance to buy bottled water.

The night’s events had not provided clarity for her. “Finally, Maduro is gone, but Trump is talking to them,” she said, referring to Delcy Rodríguez, Mr. Maduro’s vice president, and other leaders of the Maduro government who remain in charge in Caracas.

Ms. Rodríguez was appointed acting president by the Venezuelan Supreme Court just hours after the attack. With Mr. Maduro gone, Mr. Trump told reporters that the United States would run Venezuela, but Ms. Velásquez could not understand what to make of that statement. She noted that Mr. Trump’s willingness to work with the existing government grew more obvious through the morning. How could she trust that the Trump administration was indeed in control?

Daniel is a gas station attendant working in Patare, a crowded, low-income neighborhood where many of Mr. Maduro’s strongest supporters could once be located. He declined to share his last name, but he was eager to share his anger with Donald Trump—not for removing Mr. Maduro, but for quickly undermining the potential leadership of María Corina Machado, the winner of the 2025 Nobel Peace Prize because of her efforts at the head of Venezuela’s opposition movement.

“Did you hear what Donald Trump said about María Corina?” he asked, furious that during a press conference at his Mar-a-Lago residence, Mr. Trump had openly dismissed the possibility that Ms. Machado could step into the power vacuum opening in Caracas.

“She’s the one that should be [in Miraflores, the presidential palace],” Daniel said.

Both Ms. Velásquez and Daniel had been opposition supporters, but hours after Mr. Maduro’s arrest, they remained uncertain how to respond. Mr. Maduro may be gone, but deep fear of his regime remains. Key members of the Maduro circle, many of whom had been notorious for their repression of Venezuelan civil society, remain in power, and none of Venezuela’s 800 political prisoners have been released.

Mr. Maduro’s supporters were freer to demonstrate their sentiments. Several thousand rallied on the afternoon of Jan. 6 near Simón Bolívar Square in the center of Caracas. Some vigorously called for the Trump administration to “return Maduro, you have had him kidnapped.”

“Post #JusticeforVenezuela in your social media; tell it to your friends. We will not stand idle in front of imperialism,” one woman speaker urged the crowd, many wearing uniforms of the government institutions where they worked. When asked if they would allow a photo, some agreed but held up signs to hide their faces.

Professor David Smilde, the chair of the department of sociology at Tulane University in New Orleans, has followed Venezuelan politics for more than 15 years. He does not foresee a clear path ahead after Mr. Maduro’s removal.

“It is not quite right to see Delcy Rodríguez as a moderate,” he wrote on his Substack blog. “She is simply a more modern authoritarian with no commitment to democracy.”

He added: “While the trial of Maduro might be a rallying point for the Venezuelan diaspora in the U.S. and elsewhere, people in Venezuela will be focusing on more tangible issues such as the economy and political liberties.”

A role for the church?

Roman Catholicism is the dominant faith in Venezuela, and the church has long been widely respected because of its attention to the nation’s deep social deficits and its many humanitarian concerns. The local church has been particularly active in efforts on behalf of Venezuela’s emigres. At the same time, the nation’s bishops have raised concerns with the policies and actions of Venezuela’s political leaders. This has led to an uneven relationship with the Maduro government, marked by close collaboration on some issues and heightened tension around others.

In a pastoral letter released in October on the occasion of the canonization of the first Venezuelan saints, José Gregorio Hernández and Mother Carmen Rendiles, Venezuelan bishops urged Mr. Maduro to release political prisoners. Many of the most recently imprisoned were rounded up during demonstrations in protest of election fraud that had allowed Mr. Maduro to stay in power.

And in December, Cardinal Baltazar Porras Cardozo, the retired archbishop of Caracas and one of Mr. Maduro’s most outspoken critics, was prevented from leaving Venezuela and had his Vatican diplomatic passport confiscated as he attempted to begin a journey to Spain. He had been planning to participate in a ceremony that would have invested him as spiritual protector of the Order of St. Lazarus in Venezuela.

But just last August, Mr. Maduro pledged his support to the Fe y Alegría (Faith and Joy) movement, an international organization for popular education first founded in Caracas by José María Vélaz, S.J., in 1955. Fe y Alegría is led by the Jesuits in 22 countries around the world.

Fe y Alegría currently educates more than 180,000 students in 176 schools across Venezuela. The movement is supported by international donors, the Venezuelan private sector and the families of schoolchildren who are able to contribute partial or full tuition. But under an official agreement, the Venezuelan government has paid a percentage of Fe y Alegría’s teacher salaries since 1989.

Though many residents were hesitant to venture outside the day after the attack, and those who did were seeking to stock up on basic supplies, by Jan. 5, the city had returned to a more or less normal routine. A state of emergency had been declared by Mr. Maduro just before he was captured by U.S. special forces, and days later, some stepped-up military patrols had become evident on the streets of Caracas. Reports are circulating of the detention of some residents and journalists.

Masses in Caracas went on as scheduled on Saturday evening, though turnout appeared to be light. Only five parishioners attended the afternoon Mass at St. Aloysius de Gonzaga Church in Caracas’s Chuao neighborhood; the celebration typically draws at least 200.

The pastor, Efraín Corona, S.D.S., said that during the U.S. assault, he had been especially worried for relatives who lived near the targeted military sites. He discovered later that all his family members were unhurt but that their homes had been left without electricity because of damage caused by the U.S. missile strikes.

“We must ask for wisdom in our homeland,” Father Corona said during his homily. “What is it that God asks of us during this unique moment?” he asked. No one among the faithful gathered at St. Aloysius that evening seemed ready to answer that question.

Estefanía Salazar contributes from Caracas, Venezuela.