THERE IS STILL THE CROSS IN CUBA.
It can take their cows and dilute the coffee, but it can never kill the cross. The cross has a way of doing that. In what we think are the furthest and darkest corners of the world, the presence of the Lord hovers nearest. Where wickedness seeks to drown out the light, dandelions of stubborn hope burst through the seams in the sidewalk.
Cuba has been communist since the revolution in the 1960s, and much of this generation has known nothing but the oppression, hopelessness, and atheism of the regime. The moment you land in present-day Cuba, it feels like a dystopian world. Past the bright sun and tropical greenery are rows of dilapidated yet oddly preserved interconnected homes and winding streets. But everything is empty. The airport stores are sparse, selling only a handful of dusty artifacts left over from the ’90s and small tins of coffee. Perhaps the strangest thing is the empty storefronts that span the city—stretches of windows with nothing inside but a singular handbag.
In the evening, as the power goes out sporadically, young people swarm the streets, wandering lackadaisically. Restaurants are a rarity because there is no food.
Most Cubans would tell you they know about God, yet they live as functional atheists. With an average worker’s wages being only $10–$15 a month (or less), many have resorted to black market activity, online prostitution, or other desperate means of income. Their world is trapped on an island where they cannot leave, where food is becoming scarcer, power is unreliable, and where, oddly enough, killing a cow is a crime that will put you in jail.
I felt I needed to give you a picture of Cuba before I went forward. But before you lose hope—and never lose hope—here’s the Cuba I saw. I saw the cross reigning in Cuba. I saw the Lord breathing revival into His church. I saw the gospel physically lift the burden of guilt off heavy shoulders. Sitting in a rocking chair, the air like electricity, as hungry eyes soak in this message of grace. The heat of the day slowing our speech, dusty feet, a quiet corner as a man takes a break from taking care of his horse. These words—broken across a language barrier—but soaked with hope.
And I saw a Church in Cuba—spanning denominations, economic status, skin color, and age—uniting tirelessly to reach every last neighbor. They are committed to the Kingdom of God. While many new believers cannot even afford a Bible, they pray with zeal and fervently seek to share with their friends and family, no matter the personal cost.
The faith of the believers I met there felt like family. These are a people who have met Him. And I find them everywhere I go on earth… It’s nothing religious, it’s not about church attendance—it’s a people who have been touched by the same Man that I have. A people who have held onto those wounds.
Past our economic disparity, past the gap in our experiences, there’s nothing in this world like flying across the globe or hopping 45 minutes across the ocean and finding, hidden in the farthest corners, a people hungry for more of the Lord. It’s like my heart reaches out and grabs theirs and says, Have you met Him too?! Oh, there’s nothing like Him!
There is still the cross in Cuba. Nothing can quench the power of the cross. The more I meet every tribe and every tongue, the more I am convinced that the gospel will never be quenched. This Kingdom, like a measure of yeast once hidden, is now growing with a ferocity that makes the darkness tremble—even in the darkest places. And guess what? The leaven of this Kingdom grows best in the dark.
“He told them another parable: ‘The kingdom of heaven is like leaven that a woman took and hid in three measures of flour, till it was all leavened.’” —Matthew 13:33
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” —John 1:5
No, communism can never quench the light of Christ. In fact, the more it tightens its grip on the people of Cuba, the hungrier they grow for the presence of God—a people starving for the truth. And in this Kingdom, all the hungry get fed.
