For some, faith replaces political disillusionment

Herald Staff Report

HAVANA -- When 61-year-old Jose Maria Contreras retired from his job as the director of a polytechnic institute in Havana a year ago, he suffered what some Cubans call a late-life crisis of faith.

He and his wife, longtime members of the Communist Party, had pensions that amounted to little more than $20 a month when pooled, a 15-year-old Russian car and a house crammed with stacks of books.

``All we had, really, were our memories,'' Contreras said. ``These were memories of the days when we were shining with the zeal of the revolution. We taught school in the countryside. We were so proud to have been invited to join the party. People said we were good examples.''

But somewhere -- he figures it was about five years ago, when he pulled out a dusty album of photos of himself as a bearded young teacher -- it dawned on him that he was no longer an idealist. He was struggling to survive economically, he was as corrupt as many other officials, and instead of listening to political speeches or making them, he found excuses not to attend.

``At that moment,'' he said, ``another memory returned. It was of myself as an altar boy. The smell of candles and incense. The special way the words of a priest sound inside a church. The comforting feeling of security, of faith, of trust when you are a believer.''

Recently baptized

Contreras began going to San Agustin Church. Last year he was baptized, part of a small but rapidly growing number of older men and women resurrecting their Roman Catholic faith. The church claims 4 1/2 million baptized members among the 11 million Cubans. Church statistics show that baptisms have tripled since 1992, and church attendance has doubled in that time.

In 1979, there were 7,000 baptisms in Havana. Last year, there were 32,725 in the city of two million people. Nationally, there were 27,410 baptisms in 1986, 70,081 in 1995.

Each month, the church says, 1,600 young adults between the ages of 17 and 25 are being baptized. Separate figures were not available for older Cubans.

``If I had not rejoined the church,'' Contreras said, ``I would have grown old and bitter, full of regrets. Life is not easy for Catholics here, despite recent changes. You are making a sacrifice, especially if you are also a party member, which under the new rules is possible.

Used to sacrifice

``But, you know, an old revolutionary like me is accustomed to making sacrifices, especially when the cause is pure and not tainted by corruption and lies and hollow words.''

Contreras' wife, Maria, has just started going to church.

``The difference between me and my husband,'' she said, ``is that he was engulfed in a wave of emotion. For me, accustomed to political analysis, it is an exercise in intellectual thought.

``I am not there yet,'' said the mother of three doctors.

``I am still bothered by the fact that the church has a history here of being for the elite. [The church acknowledges only two priests of African ancestry in a nation that is more than 60 percent black.] I am not ready to be baptized. But after years of being told not to listen to what the church says, I am ready at least to listen.''

Nelia Sanchez, 24, was baptized four months ago. The single mother of three girls, she is a seamstress from Santiago de Cuba who arrived in Havana two years ago after her marriage to a police officer failed.

``I earn 34 pesos a month [equivalent to $1.50],'' said Sanchez, who lives in a giant, modern apartment house but shares a four-room unit with three other single mothers. ``I was desperate for hope. Nothing was giving me hope for the future.

Stole at work

``The state was not feeding my babies,'' she said, bitterly. ``I was getting another 50 pesos [about $2] for them. But to feed us all, I had to steal from work. When you steal like that -- it is from the state -- you don't feel as if you are stealing from someone.

``I am an honest person. I do not steal from people. But many Cubans say that thieves who rob thieves have 100 years of pardon.''

Sanchez acknowledges that her decision to join the church was not entirely a religious one. Becoming a member, she said, gave her access to handouts of food from the church, and she hopes it will mean financial help for training to become a stenographer.

``Caritas [the Catholic relief agency] visited our apartment building. I really was moved by their spirit of charity. I realized that this church is an international church and that other Catholics in the United States and in Europe are willing to help us.

``With socialism, what can I expect? Oh, sure, our leaders made many changes. Many basic rights like free medical care are available. But right now, what can socialism do for me?

`Fidel has failed'

``Eggs, cooking oil, rice, beans -- can socialism provide these for me? You need dollars here to survive, to buy that food, but for most Cubans the only way to get those dollars is to do illegal things. That is why there is a crisis here. That is why some people dare to say Fidel has failed.''

Elsa Rodriguez, 37, came to the Catholic Church five years ago from a life of privilege.

She studied Russian and English at two universities in the former Soviet Union over an 11-year period to become a professor of languages at a Havana university. She was a high-ranking official in the Communist youth movement. As a child growing up under the revolution, she had absolutely no exposure to any Christian teaching.

But, as so often happens in Cuban families divided by exile, she grew depressed when her mother, her brother and two uncles fled to Florida. She had been a loyal party member, she explained, traveling through Canada to the Soviet Union with plenty of opportunity to defect if she had wanted to.

Sudden impulse

One day in 1990, she was walking by the Catholic church in her neighborhood when an impulse she still does not understand led her to walk inside.

``A nun was there,'' Rodriguez said of that first visit to the church. ``She asked me what I wanted. I told her I didn't know, but I began talking with her. As a member of the Communist Youth, I had tried to help our system and our revolution because I believe in helping people, so I had worked a lot with children.

``The nun invited me to work with children attending the church who were studying their catechism. I did not know what a catechism was.
''

Her father, an old revolutionary who lives with her and her husband, could not understand her sudden interest in Catholicism. He was disgusted when she was baptized in 1992, she said. Her husband, a state economics official, was more accepting but warned her that she could lose her prestigious job and that he could be affected, too.

But she stuck with her new faith.

``The thing is,'' Rodriguez said, ``there is no way the state can help you with a personal crisis. Only your faith that God will help you can do it.''