In Cuba, the simplest things are occasions for festivity: an anniversary, the acquisition of a new refrigerator, or the purchase of a motor scooter.  During a week in Havana, Alice and I learned that no celebration is complete without dancing to songs that speak of palm trees, mountains, colors, coffee, and love. Music and rhythm seemed a way to transcend the problems of a struggling island nation, once known as the “Pearl of the Caribbean.”

Until the late 1950s, Cuba had been an old-style Latin country, with a large, uneducated lower class, and churches dependent on the beneficence of the wealthy. With the takeover of the government by Fidel Castro and the Cuban Communist Party in 1959, all churches were confiscated by the government and Catholic institutions closed. Religious orders were expelled, and within three years the number of priests on the island decreased from 800 to 200.  Not until the difficult economic times of the 1990s were international Catholic relief agencies allowed back into the country. Though the practice of religion is no longer attacked by the government, the thirty-year ban of public religious display has left a deep mark.  Touring the city, we saw few signs of Christianity. There were no street-side shrines, nor rosaries and medals hanging from rearview mirrors.  Religious art was not seen in homes or cafes.  Our hotel staff were somewhat taken aback, therefore, when we expressed an interest in attending Sunday Mass. After several inquiries, we learned that there was a church nearby and that in Cuba Sunday Masses are always offered at 8am.

 After walking almost a mile through narrow downtown streets, we found the Sanctuary of the Sagrada Corazon (Sacred Heart), a majestic Neo-Gothic structure completed in 1923. The Sunday Mass, celebrated by a middle-aged Jesuit priest, was simple and respectfully performed. But for a country enamored with music and display, the service was remarkably ordinary. Attendance was sparse, perhaps 40 or 50 persons, and there were no children or families. There was no singing, and even with a brief homily, Mass concluded in less than 40 minutes. 

By and large, Catholic Cubans wear their faith lightly, often mixing it with other elements. Over. 50% of the people are baptized, but less than 1% are regular churchgoers. Many of those who attend Church on Sunday are strongly influenced by Santeria, a peculiar fusion of monotheism and belief that inanimate objects have souls. An American missionary priest notes that in Cuba “you find everything from people who would be maybe 100 percent Santeros to those that would be 100 percent Catholics… The great majority of Cuban believers would be somewhere in the middle.”

Ordinary life, however, seems dominated by financial and social rather than religious concerns. For a poor nation with a fractured economic system, Cuba does surprisingly well:  the state continues to offer universal education and health care, guaranteed housing, and basic food supplies. In all Havana, we saw only one beggar. But these benefits come at a cost. Any public gathering is looked upon with suspicion. There is no real freedom of speech. There seems no room for Catholic education or social engagement, and the role of the priest is confined to the sanctuary and the confessional. Even the colors people wear at the annual procession at the shrine of El Cobre are strictly defined. One is free in Cuba so long as one knows one’s place and keeps a low profile.

In Cuba, however, there is more to religion than meets the eye. At Mass that Sunday, adjacent to the altar, was a reproduction of the famous stature of the Virgin enshrined in the mining town of El Cobre.  Legend explains how the statue was found floating in the sea by a young black slave and two indigenous fishermen. Because the Virgin did not come to a priest or bishop but to commoners, she was acclaimed as the patroness of all Cubans Spaniards, Creoles, and African slaves. A pilgrimage to the sanctuary at El Cobre is something every Cuban hopes to accomplish. When Ernest Hemingway, who lived many years on the island, received the Pulitzer Prize for The Old Man and the Sea he left the medallion at the shrine of the Virgin of Cobre. It is not uncommon to see images of the Virgin dressed in the colors of the Cuban flag. The Virgin is an integral part of the national identity, and her feast is a national holiday.

Despite its difficulties, the Catholic Church in Cuba continues to show vitality. There are five dioceses on the island, and a well-produced digital magazine, La Palabra Nueva, appears monthly. There is a religious streak deep in the Cuban psyche that has little play in the public. But not always. Easter Week and Christmas celebrations draw large crowds, and in 2015 more than 300,000 worshipers attended a Mass celebrated by Pope Francis at the Plaza de La Revolución in Havana. 

We left the island perplexed and grateful. Despite country’s limitations, the basic decency of the Cuban people shines forth. You find it in their voices and smiles, music. and dance. The Cuban people are irrepressibly welcoming, generous, and long-suffering.   It is not the island, but the people of Cuba who are the true Pearl of the Caribbean.  We received more from our short stay in this beleaguered nation than we could ever give back.