Archive: Hosannas in Havana
By Thomas C. Oden
My first Sunday evening in Cuba took me to an Afro-Caribbean Methodist church on the outskirts of Havana. An exuberant charismatic revival was clearly in progress. The church was crammed full; no seats anywhere. People of all ages were standing in the front, back, and along the walls.
Although conditions have improved, being a Christian in Cuba is still a risky business. No one witnesses without peril. Hence, most Cuban Christians are willing to be martyrs in the classic sense of that word. This charges every baptismal decision, even every church service, with radical seriousness. It helps the church to understand precisely what is its most important task and to examine all other options accordingly. Cuban believers are learning firsthand where their most compelling accountability lies: to their risen Lord.
I was ushered to the front row and squeezed in. People were kneeling, facing the pew, and praying aloud with an unpretentious abandon that caught me off guard. The Lord’s Table was set. Directly in front of me was a Casio keyboard, two large conga drums, a tangle of electronic musical equipment, and a rococo trap set. Cuban revivalism, I could tell, would have a strong Afro-Caribbean beat.
As the spirited praise music increased, kids from the street began peering in the windows. A whole baseball team of adolescent eyes were transfixed by the service of Holy communion, scrutinizing every move, every syllable. The liturgical form of the Lord’s Supper was the old Book of Common Prayer-based Methodist liturgy, which I have known since childhood, adapted to the Afro-Cuban culture.
Six “glory singers” led congregational singing. Younger kids especially joined in with heartfelt praise, hands held high. This was a family event, a neighborhood happening.
As the music mounted in exuberance, the lights went off unexpectedly, leaving us in a blackout—a chronic symptom of Cuban life today. But the singing, rocking congregation never skipped a beat as a kerosene lantern was brought in to reilluminate the event.
From day one I could see that a dynamic, no-nonsense revival was taking place. Contrition, repentance, faith, and new birth were in the air. It was a scene that could not be faked, an unfeigned work of God. Emotion flooded my heart. These were my brothers and sisters—members of the body of Christ in which I live and breathe.
A Youthful Pentecost
The sermon was as ardent as the prayers and singing. Its focus: We are in a war with Satan. We already know the end, but the struggle goes on. You are invited to make a decision. It could be the most important decision of your life: accept Jesus in your heart. Trust him for forgiveness of your sins.
Those ready to follow Christ wholeheartedly were asked to raise hands quietly. God bless you, the preacher said repeatedly, maybe 20 times. The Spirit was ricocheting through that packed hall. More than a dozen came forward—many of them adults under 25, educated on a diet of socialist and atheistic ideology.
Whatever the ideological obstacles, they are not blocking the work of the Spirit in Cuba. No human power can do that. There is an incurable religiousness embedded in the Cuban consciousness. It has been there all along, frozen for some decades by the socialist revolution, but now showing itself as a vigorous survivor, like a seed planted in winter.
It is the Cuban youth who are busy leading their people in religious revival. The movement is youth-led because it is the hopes of youth that have been most fiercely undermined by the regime. Even state-managed television, replete with the bravado of socialist ideology, is less interesting than self-made music, dancing, reading, self-education, and family entertainment.
Roberto, born Methodist, educated in the atheistic school system, is lean and bony—gaunt, as are many Cuban young people. Along with seven colleagues in his central Cuban youth group, Roberto prayed on his knees well into the night, seeking the baptism of the Holy Spirit.
“At first we were a little afraid of it. Then we said together, as with one voice, to God: ‘We are going to remain on our knees until you baptize us with your Spirit.’ I was like Jacob wrestling with the angel, pleading: ‘I am not going to let go of you until you reveal yourself.’
“That night, when our pastor discovered that we were searching for this experience, he chided us, saying that nothing was going to happen, that we were wasting our time. But when he saw that some of us were receiving the gifts of the Spirit, he then joined in with us in our prayer vigil. Soon the pastor was asking the Spirit to anoint him as well. That night was the start of a ministry of the gifts of the Spirit: of discernment, of love, of understanding, and even of healing.”
As the young man spoke, my mind could not help turning to Acts 2. Were the events of Pentecost being replayed in the churches of this troubled republic?
Roberto beamed as he informed me that his youth group has 128 kids, and that 50 people would be joining his church the following Sunday. His faith was contagious.
Choosing Life
The only entree for Americans to Cuba is by invitation. This has resulted in a long train of liberal ecclesial sycophants traveling to Cuba to pay homage to Castro and condemn American policy. When my invitation came out of the blue from Methodist Bishop Joel Ajo, I was glad to learn that this sort of quasi-political game-playing was no longer necessary.
With the revolution came an influx of leftist philosophies to the church. Prior to Castro’s regime, Protestant missions in Cuba were shaped by Anglican evangelicals, Reformed individualists, and Wesleyan revivalists. The majority of lay Cuban Christians remain basically conservative and evangelical. Yet, ironically, the only link between these lay congregations and the North American Christian laity has been through an ultra-liberal church bureaucracy whose liberation-theology rhetoric now sounds passe to Cuban ears.
Staying its course amid the ideological fog has been the Methodist Church of Cuba, an autonomous church that has been evolving with practically no help from the outside world for more than 30 years. This has freed the church to rediscover its own distinctive Caribbean evangelical identity, and now it is growing profusely. Once down to 6,000 members, Cuban Methodism now numbers more than 50,000. One local church in central Cuba has 26 house churches averaging more than 50 persons per home.
Cuba’s house-church movement is a prime example of the explosive growth taking place among evangelical believers. Born out of the repressive policies of the revolution, house churches evolved as Christians spontaneously began inviting people to their homes for prayer, hymn singing, and Bible study. As with the early Christian church, the threat of persecution became an impetus for expansion.
One thing is certain: in a crisis of life or death, Cuban evangelicals have chosen life—the life lived through the power of the Spirit.
Thomas C. Oden is the Henty Anson Buttz professor of theology and ethics at the Theological School, Drew University. He is an ordained UM minister, author of numerous books, and a contributing editor of Good News. This article first appeared in Christianity Today, April 25, 1994.
0 Comments