Highways and Hedges of Cuba

Perhaps you are saying, “How strange to go to Cuba, an island so near our own country that it is a little hop of a plane over the channel, and one is there. Besides, this island has been under the watchcare of the United States for many years now, and the influence of American thinking, civilization, and religion is bound to leave its impression.”

And then there might be the thought that after one has labored in far-off India where dark paganism prevails, to merely go down to the little island of Cuba would, at the very least, be a tame experience. But Faith Stewart told me that God had showed her that the new field would be harder, not easier, than the first. But that fact was only a challenge to throw herself with more zeal into the battle for souls.

Back in the early days of the history of Cuba, the Spaniards came over the sea and settled on the island. The original natives occupying the island were the copper-colored Indians, as there were at first the Indians in the United States. The Spaniards soon destroyed the population that then existed, who had been living in the same primitive way that they existed in the United States. Then there came a time when they needed the physical help and had none, and not wishing to be themselves encumbered by the necessary drudgery, they went about to import the negro race, bringing them over in ships and in chains as slaves, and using them to do the hard work on the Island.

So, as in the United States, the black man came and became a part of the population, and from that day to this, he is part of the Cuban population. But he brought over with him from Africa his customs and his own religion. This was a pagan religion of worshiping spirits. And since no men ought to worship any but the triune God, these spirits are not good spirits but evil, and the worship of them is contrary to God’s will, and is an awful practice. These men also brought their strange religion to the United States, but they found truth preached from the pure Word of God and it could not flourish. It was almost wiped out, for it could not take root as it had in Cuba. There was a time when it flourished more than now. Here the faith of Catholicism was brought over by the Spaniards, and the two religions became the leading religions of Cuba.

To this day, Spiritualism in its cruder state is believed and practiced in Cuba in a way not known in the United States, but where it is just as surely a false teaching.

A group driving out to Santa Cruz (Holy Cross), about sixty miles from Havana, having visited a mission there, were returning home about ten o’clock at night. As they rode through the narrow streets of the city, they heard the slow, steady beat of the drum. There is something weird about this that cannot be described, in the peculiar tone of the solemn beat of the drum that seems to reach to the very center of the being that hears it. They slowed the speed of the car, coming almost to a dead stop.

Back there in the deep shadows of the darkness and under cover of the night, stood a large gathering of the Spiritualists, mostly colored people, but including some white Cubans who have come under the influence of this awful teaching. People were very quietly slipping into their midst as though lured by the weird rhythmic beating of the drum.

Often they can be heard as we lie in our beds at midnight, calling, calling out in the darkness to poor benighted souls in Cuba to come to the strange and fearful worship of evil spirits, whom they greatly fear. For this is a religion of fear. I was told by a Jamaican that they prepare a table with bananas and oranges or some other thing that they have reason to believe is desired by the spirit they worship, and then gather about it, dancing and going through contortions and speaking in strange tongues and falling exhausted on the floor, sometimes from fatigue and lack of sleep. If a member of the group has done them a wrong, real or imagined, at the next meeting a curse is put on that person, and suddenly they begin to feel sick and may die or suffer things because of the curse. Let no one be deceived that the devil and his evil spirits do not have power where there is no opposition from the spirit of the Gospel. These awful messengers from hell itself demand the life blood for an offering, and people in the islands in some places have offered up the lives of their own children. But here in Cuba, a child is stolen from the streets, and their heart is cut out and offered to the spirit to satisfy it. The government has clamped down on this hard in Jamaica, and seldom indeed is this phase of worship carried on. But in one year, there were seventeen little children stolen and made a sacrifice to these orgies of demon worship. The government of Cuba does not sanction this, but it seems to not have been able to crush the thing.

In the history of El Hogar (looking ahead many years at this moment), a sad case of contact with spiritualism is noted. It is the case of little Emma.* Some Christian workers in Cuba, on their way to some Christian activity, were passing a house when they heard the weeping and moaning of a little child. They came near and looked in through the iron bars of the open window. In the darkened interior, they could discern the form of a little girl of about eight or ten years.

“What is the matter, little girl?” they called in.

“I am very hungry,” answered the child.

“Come to the window, and we will give you a little money to buy bread.”

“I cannot come; I am fastened to this bed,” she replied.

There was a conference, and the men went after a policeman and also an influential man of authority, and they forced their way into the house. There they found the child chained to the post of an iron bedstead in the room. She had been there several months, living like a cat or dog. Her pan, which was for food, was set on the floor, and she had lived in this fashion for several months absolutely alone. She had been placed there to be offered, when the time came, as a sacrifice to the evil spirits. She understood the awful purpose of her imprisonment, and, left without care, lived in constant fear of death, clothed in dirty rags and chained like a dog.

She was freed and brought to a Christian home, but for weeks afterward, it seemed impossible to actually bring her back to civilization. She had been alone so long and her childish mind so warped with the wild fear of the future and her loneliness so terrible that she had become as wild as a little animal of the forest. She would hide behind the furniture and climb out of sight like a monkey when people approached her.

Only with time and infinite patience was she enabled to take her place among the other children in the Home. In the end, only the story of Jesus told to a little child in its beautiful simplicity at last captured and held her, and she lived several years in happy security among the other children, and often they would, under her leadership, get in a group for prayer when such need came up in the mission.

How good it would be if we could say that this was the end of her troubles and close this case, but it is not so. As she continued through the next few years to remain in the shelter of the Home, where she was loved and cared for and where she learned to sing songs of praise and to pray, she began to enter into girlhood. The sad time of her experience, a living death, and the awful impression made on the child mind began to take its toll, and she began to do very strange things and later to run away. After much prayer, and after everything was done that could be done, it was found necessary to see her safely in a place where the mental cases can be kept until God either heals or takes them home.

What a terrible sacrifice to this false religion, but she is one and only one of the victims rescued from the rites of this awful belief, but rescued too late. Not too long ago, the body of a little child was found in a corn field where it had been thrown after its heart was taken out. No doubt you say, “Does the government not do something about all this?” Yes, the government is opposed, and some effort has been made to punish the guilty and save life, but for some reason it still goes on, and a toll of victims is made every year. Within the last two years, a child was snatched up on the streets in broad daylight. She was only saved because her cries were heard by a person happening to get on the scene in time, and fearing capture, the captor released the child and quickly disappeared. Not far from the home of an American worker in Cuba, some of these Spiritualists meet back in the very rear of the lot and hold services; the family has heard a man’s voice crying and screaming out to the spirits in seeming agony, “Mercy, mercy, sweet love,” and a woman’s voice crying for mercy. The Gospel alone can break down this awful religion which has come down from paganism, and save the souls and the lives of the youth of the land.

The other outstanding religion of Cuba is the Catholic faith, which was brought over to Cuba by the early Spanish settlers, and today is firmly entrenched in the land in the hospital staffs, the schools of Cuba, the universities, the homes, and places in government. When they came early in the history of the Island, they found a people in darkness, and wherever this is the case, it is easy to plant the seed-thoughts of a new faith.

There is also fear in this religion, the instilled fear of being cast out of the church. It does not teach salvation and peace of heart, and a new life in Christ Jesus through repentance and faith. Therefore, the people of Cuba are hungry for something that satisfies the soul, for something real.

As we were driving to the same town before mentioned (Santa Cruz), we passed on the roadside a large shrine. It was almost twilight, but we stopped and turned a light on and looked inside. There was an image of Joseph and Mary and another of Christ. All about the shrine were empty cartons which had contained candles. These candles had been taken from the cartons and placed in the small ledges of rock. The whole shrine was built of rough stone cemented together and built up to about six or perhaps seven feet. The walls and ceiling were black with the smoke of many candles, and there were offerings of flowers, which had withered, and a nice fresh apple brought by some recent worshiper to the shrine. This is exactly what is done in other lands by the worshipers of idols. This was a Catholic shrine.

I was told by a lady who lived for many years in Cuba that she knew a family who were members of this church. They had a fine son whom they loved much who took sick and died. The priest was called in, and he told them that the boy had been a very good boy, but he had not made Heaven, and also if they wished him to get out of purgatory, they would have to have masses said, and must pay for them.

The family was very poor and had no money with which to pay masses, but there was no doubt in their minds that the priest spoke truth. Their love for their son constrained them to sell a piece of needed furniture, and turn the money over to the priest to keep the masses going. Little by little with the continued visits of the priest, the family finally had nothing left except a few essentials and a milk cow.

One day the priest returned again and informed them that it would take only two or three masses or one large one to get the boy out. The poor father asked how much it would cost and was told it would cost just the price of the cow. This was the last straw, and he said that he would not sell the cow that provided milk and needed food for the children, and asked the priest to leave the home.

So with restlessness on the part of some and an indifference on the part of others, there are many in Cuba looking for something that does not oppress or bring fear, but something that brings peace and joy, for the people of Cuba are an affectionate people. There are no families that publicly show the affection for one another as the people of Cuba do.

Go down to the airports of Havana, or the dock where the boats come in, and watch the arrivals and the cry of joy at the friends and loved ones coming in, or at the fond farewell of those who are going, and you will see that there is affection for each other shown more plainly than in our own land.

Cuba is a tropical island, and its products and climate are typical of the tropics. In the main, it is a level and rolling land with some mountains in the Oriente. In the great city of Havana lives over one third of the population of Cuba, from the lovely, colorful homes of the rich and affluent to the pitiful hovels of the very poor. The laboring man earns a mere pittance in comparison with the prices he must pay for the barest necessities of life. One has only to walk through the streets of Havana with observant eyes to sense the struggle for existence on the part of the working man in Cuba. Everywhere are men or women striving only to make a five-cent piece for bread that they may eat. The small cart pushed through streets with only a few bunches of bananas, or maybe a few oranges. Another with some flowers, or a man holding up a lunch cloth with an anxious look as you pass. Dozens of different things sold on a small scale, and many of these will go home tonight and go to bed hungry because no one has bought from them.

There are beggars, too; children, little children, leading some older person by the hand, or maybe a blind grandmother or father, pleading for a little as you pass along. Saddest of all are the little and old that must sleep out in the streets or in some doorway at night, for they have no home. There is more hunger in Cuba than the giddy tourist or the busy businessman ever dreams of, coming on a pleasure trip or for business to see only what they want to see.

There is much insanity in Cuba, as so many of the common people are undernourished all their lives, and when trouble sweeps over them, they cannot take it. Suffering stalks over the land in quiet strides, and the insecurity of it all brings problems and trials almost past bearing. The poverty of the working class makes even the care of a loved one an extra burden. With their loads to bear and their religion—if any, it does not offer either peace or comfort in this life—the people of Cuba need Christ and hope and peace.

The door of Cuba opens to the very dooryard of America. And America has all—she has the Gospel, the means, the men. So, out of America and across the channel, at the age of fifty-two years, came E. Faith Stewart, to cast in her lot with the suffering people of Cuba, to reach a helping hand, and to bring Christ to the needy in soul and body.

It had not been so easy to get to Havana. No congregation took up an offering and gave a farewell party to see her off to her country. She started with enough to take her to Florida. She took the least baggage possible and reached Miami, Florida, without the means to go further, and knew that from that city, she must pray in the means to go the rest of the way.

She was invited to speak to the small congregation worshiping there. Among the group was a poor woman listening intently to her earnest words. Before she had ceased speaking, the woman arose and handed her an envelope, saying, “I shall have to leave and return at once to my home, but I wish to leave this with you.”

Miss Stewart thanked her, and hoping to have more time to read it later, put it in her pocketbook, and went on. The meeting closed, and no offering was taken for her. After the service, she went to the home of a friend to await the time for the last train for Key West. (That train does not operate between Miami and Key West now, as the great tidal wave of a few years back completely destroyed the whole line and it was never rebuilt.)

The friend, in whose home she waited, mentioned to her that her young son, a boy of perhaps fourteen or fifteen years, would be willing to take her to the depot. All during the conversation, Faith Stewart had been praying silently for God to send that twenty dollars necessary for the rest of the journey. Finally she remembered the envelope given her, and thinking it was a request for prayer, opened it. In joy and surprise, she cried out, “Thank God!”

“Why are you praising God?” her friend asked her.

“Because He has kept His promise to see me through. Here is twenty dollars. Now I can buy my ticket.”

“Do you mean that you did not have enough money to buy your ticket?” asked the boy in surprise.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

“And you knew that you had not the money. Then why did you start?”

“Because,” said she, “my Father has promised to supply all needs. He it was who called me to serve, and I came depending on Him to take care of me; and you can see that He has kept His promise.”

Let us say that the boy that sat in that home and listened to the conversation never forgot that lesson of faith in action. He has been a grown man for twenty years, but whenever she made one of her missionary return trips and he was notified, he managed to get to that meeting if possible.

That was twenty-eight years ago now, but sitting here in Florida at the home of a dear friend and talking over these things of the past, my hostess said to me, “Do you know that the woman who gave that twenty dollars still lives?”

We asked for the privilege of meeting this person whom God had used to make it possible for Faith Stewart to reach her field.

Starting quite a little before the time for services, on our way to worship in Miami, we drove to the home of this aged sister of eighty-five years. As we entered the path leading to her home, I noticed a sign on the gate post, “Plants for Sale.” This aged lady was still making and using money for the Lord’s work. We soon approached the door and met a dear old saint of God. The day was quite warm, but she had on a long wrap and a knitted cap pulled over her head to her ears. Her eyes were dark and piercing and set deep in her face. She leaned forward to catch our words, for she is very deaf. Her face lit up as we questioned her, and she said with a smile, “Yes, I had saved that money for a long while to go to see my father who was very ill. It was very hard to get hold of it and save it up extra, but there came a day when I had enough saved and had the money all ready. You see, I was working in a factory supporting five grandchildren, and I had not left the money at home, but put it away little by little in the bank.

“I wanted to visit my unsaved father and hoped to win him for Christ before he died, for he was not expected to live. But God spoke to me and said, ‘Give that money to Faith Stewart this evening.’

“I said, ‘Lord, you know how I have worked and saved for a long time, and now my father is sick, and I may never see him again.’

“But God said, ‘Give it to her, and I will provide a way.’

“I went up and gave her the envelope and then left the meeting and returned home with nothing but the promises of God to save the situation.

“A few days later, a relative came by and stopped on their way to my father’s home. They said, ‘We have come by to take you to see your father.’ How much better to go in a comfortable car, and then, after a four weeks’ stay, to have my sister kindly take me home again.”

We thanked her for the interview and passed out of her little home, and my host and hostess pointed to the lovely walks leading to the attractive chapel nearby. God, in these later years, had prospered her, and she had not forgotten to invest in eternal things as before. But she had been instrumental in doing God’s will and sending Faith Stewart to her new field.