Rebirth for Cuba's Churches

Havana, Cuba Last November, a friend invited Odalys Gonzalez to a church-sponsored "discipleship group" getting started in her neighborhood. Gonzalez accepted the invitation in December, and on Christmas she sat with her neighbors during worship in Santa Clara's Methodist Church.

Gonzalez has been a member of the Communist Party of Cuba (PCC) for 11 years. Her entry into a Christian community came on the heels of the decision by the Party's Fourth Congress in October 1991 to admit believers into President Fidel Castro's ruling party. While the historic move has not resulted in an influx of Christians into the ranks of the PCC, hundreds of Party members are now walking in the front door of Cuba's churches.

Until last year, Cuban Communists were required to profess atheism, a requirement born from the heated church-state conflicts of the '60s. The troubled relationship has been on the mend for several years now, with Castro especially displaying increasing openness to dialogue. Last year's decision opened a new chapter in the life of the Cuban church.

The 31-year-old Gonzalez had no previous experience with the church; her parents were practitioners of santeria, a mystical blend of west African and Catholic folk religion. She claims her life is different since accepting Jesus Christ. "I feel at home in the church, it's become my family," she says. She has enrolled in a program leading to baptism and church membership next year.

Gonzalez says local PCC officials have not criticized her church involvement. "They ask me a lot of questions, friendly questions," she says. "They are thirsty for knowledge of God." One fellow party militant loaned Gonzalez a dusty, long-unused family Bible.

THROUGHOUT THIS Caribbean island nation, people are flocking to church. The Methodist Church, for example, served some 10,000 Cubans two years ago. Today it is reaching more than 30,000.

Bibles are being imported in record numbers. At February's book fair in Havana, the Bible was the top bestseller; more than 8,000 copies sold before supplies ran out.

The number of students preparing for the ministry has skyrocketed. Oden Marichal, rector of the evangelical seminary at Matanzas, says that six years ago his ecumenical institution had a dozen students or less; he remembers times when there were only four students enrolled at the hilltop seminary. Today, 140 students participate in the seminary's programs.

Church leaders here ascribe the rapid growth in their congregations to a variety of factors, including an end to officially sanctioned discrimination. "The wall of fear has come down," declares Marianela de la Paz, a physician studying for the Episcopal priesthood.

De la Paz says she always protested when she suffered discrimination. "I made people respect me," she says. Yet many others were neither as determined nor as fortunate, and were denied certain careers or passed over for promotions.

While Castro and other top Cuban leaders have ordered a halt to such discrimination, "there are still lots of people who don't think like Fidel," according to Methodist Bishop Joel Ajo. "There's still a problem of dogmatism in the Party, especially at the grassroots."

Going to church is in vogue in Cuba, and the curious who arrive are usually "totally ignorant" about faith, says Arturo Aranguren, a Catholic priest in Santa Clara. "They come with the most basic questions about the church and belief in God," he says.

Catholic writer Raul Gomez Treto reports many newcomers are surprised because "the church isn't like the church of their grandmothers." Its liturgy and style don't resemble the Spanish-dominated, pre-Vatican II institution that existed in Cuba before the revolution.

Many say a spiritual crisis is behind the sudden popularity of the church. There's a tremendous spiritual vacuum that needs to be filled," says Protestant sociologist Laureana Cruz. "The fall of the socialist bloc meant the world they trusted no longer exists." Declares Ajo, "The revolution tried to make a new man and woman, and after 30 years we realized that we've failed."

THESE ARE TOUGH TIMES for Cuba, perhaps the most difficult test the revolution has faced. The overnight collapse of its trading relationships induced a dramatic cutback in energy and food imports. Meat and dairy products are mostly a memory for well-nourished Cubans. Bicycles have replaced buses.

The U.S. government has tightened the economic noose, exacerbating the crisis. Ignoring the anachronistic character of its Cuba policy, the Bush administration earlier this year courted votes in Miami by strengthening the blockade. After three decades of a bipartisan crusade against Castro, U.S. officials smell blood, and are determined to increase the suffering of the Cuban people in the elusive hope that they will rise up.

The economic crisis here seems most acutely felt by those born after the 1959 triumph over the U.S.-backed Fulgencio Batista. One church worker states that many youth think only of living elsewhere; they feel "trapped, with no options, nothing to look forward to except long days of hard work with no chance of getting ahead." Drug abuse and suicide among teenagers and young adults are on the rise. "We've got to reach out with a message that in Jesus Christ there is hope," says a young evangelical in Pilon.

STRENGTHENED BY ITS growing size, the church is also reaching out to the government with an increasingly critical message. When "Rapid Response Brigades" (BRR)--teams of Party faithful mobilized to confront human rights activists--were proposed last year, church leaders counseled members not to participate.

According to Jose Felipe Carneado, chief of the PCC's Office of Religious Affairs, the criticism was taken seriously. "There was a lot of confusion about the Brigades, both in the church and Party," says Carneado. "We needed to clarify their role." After a flurry of criticism, the BRR were quietly shelved.

Cuban churches have strongly criticized the death penalty. Party officials admit the criticism helped push the government early this year to spare three men condemned to death for terrorism; one man was executed, however.

Church leaders complain regularly about their lack of access to the media, all of which are state-owned. In December 1990 the government granted the Ecumenical Council radio time; since then the group has broadcast nationally a one-hour program at Christmas and Easter. Several provincial stations also carry local church programming.

Ajo claims the amount of air time granted is "an attempt at deception" by the government. The council is demanding an hour a month to begin with, along with regular space in newspapers.

Not wanting their words to be manipulated by professional Cuba bashers in Miami and Washington, D.C., most church leaders claim their criticism is best proffered in private. They say they usually get a fair hearing in Carneado's office, high in the massive headquarters of the PCC's Central Committee.

"We take seriously what the churches say to us," Carneado acknowledges, describing the churches as "uncomfortable friends." Carneado says the revolution "is still new and inexperienced. We continue making errors and we're constantly rectifying them. We need the criticism of the church."

According to the Rev. Hector Mendez, president of the Cuban Presbyterian Church, the church needed time to earn the right to speak. Today, he says, "We have arrived at a time of maturity within the revolutionary process in which the churches can offer a word of orientation and encouragement, and at other moments a word of criticism."

Mendez suggests the church has a particular role to play in upholding ethical values in the face of "the disintegration of the family" and flagging enthusiasm for work. "We want to be participants in the construction of a new society in Cuba, cooperating participants, working, but also teaching and criticizing."

WHILE CHRISTIANS ARE willing to lend a hand in solving Cuba's moral problems, few are interested in joining the PCC. "If the Party took 30 years to think about admitting Christians, then I can take 30 years to think about the invitation," says a Catholic in Santa Clara. Dora Valentin, a Presbyterian activist in Varadero, states, "I'm a communist, a revolutionary, and a Christian, but I'm not interested in belonging to the Party." The PCC asked Valentin to join in 1967 on the condition that she renounce her religious beliefs. She refused.

Gabriel Coderch, coordinator of a Catholic reflection group in Havana, says, "We're not interested in belonging to the Party, only in being treated as first-class citizens."

Ajo claims the Party's decision is a "recognition of believers who have done so much over the years, staying faithful to the revolution despite rejection from both the revolution and the church."

Paul Jeffrey was a United Methodist missionary based in Managua, Nicaragua, and wrote regularly about the region for church periodicals when this article appeared.