Becky and our translator, Kim Christman (left).
By Becky Waugh, shared in worship on February 22, 2026.
As many of you know, six of us traveled to Cuba on January 15th and returned on the 22nd — just a couple of weeks after our government invaded Venezuela and began to threaten Cuba with circumstances even more difficult than those they were already facing.
Our group went with expectations that there would be significant challenges, but also with the knowledge that our sister church was eager for us to come and ready to embrace us.
I want to share a few things about the situation on the ground and about our time there. But first, let me set the stage with a quote I came across a couple of decades ago. I'm not certain of its origin, but I have found it to be profoundly true:
What you focus on expands.
You have probably experienced this. When you become interested in something, suddenly you notice opportunities, books, classes, and conversations related to it everywhere — things you might not have noticed before. The reverse is equally true. When something annoys you, it seems to multiply. One of my own pet peeves is the phrase "and it was, like …" used in place of "and I said" or "and she said." I once found myself on a sidewalk counting how many times someone just ahead of me used it in a single conversation. That principle — what you focus on expands — says something about what we experienced with our sister church in Cuba.
The Situation on the Ground
The situation in Cuba is dire and steadily worsening. Our government is choking off what few oil supplies were still reaching the island, and predictions at the time of our visit suggested that by mid-March, virtually no fuel would be available in Cuba.
The consequences of this are sweeping. In Havana, where we stayed, residents considered themselves fortunate to have power ten to fourteen hours a day. In more rural parts of the island, people found themselves with electricity only one or two hours a day. Without fuel, there is no heat, no cooking, and no refrigeration. Food spoils. Transportation fails. Life becomes an exercise in endurance.
We were fortunate that our accommodations at the church, located near five hospitals, maintained consistent power. At that point, the government was rationing electricity in ways that prioritized areas with major health facilities. We were grateful for that.
Beyond the fuel crisis, Cuba is in the grip of a severe economic crisis. Inflation is rampant. A retired person living on a government pension may receive 1,500 to 1,800 Cuban pesos per month — the equivalent of roughly five to seven US dollars. That is often all they have, particularly given that more than a million younger Cubans have left the island in recent years due to the desperate conditions. To put the inflation in stark terms: a single pound of chicken costs 2,800 pesos — more than an entire month's pension.
There is also a health crisis. Four viruses were surging on the island in the fall as we were planning our trip. By January, most were waning with the change in season, but chikungunya had already swept through the population. An estimated 70 percent of Cubans contracted it. With no diagnostics and no medicines available to treat it, people were left to endure severe joint pain and swelling on their own. The illness became so common that Cubans gave a name to the hobbling gait it caused — they call it "the chicken walk." Our host pastor was still barely able to get around during our visit.
The pharmacy shelves we passed were empty. Hospitals had depleted their medicine supplies. We were deeply grateful that this congregation made it possible for us to bring approximately $4,500 worth of medicines with us — resources that are now being shared with the church community, local hospitals, and community health workers. It is not a lot, and it will not last long. But it was something, and the gratitude we received was overwhelming.
Underlying all of this is a crisis of confidence. The government has failed its people. The needs of ordinary Cubans are not being prioritized.
What We Found
Given all of that, I think we all expected to encounter people who were depressed, grieving, and eager to tell us how hard things were. That is not what we found.
Instead, we found a thriving little church that could hardly have been more generous or more joyful.
Welcome notes were waiting on our beds when we arrived. Our first evening, the congregation hosted what they called a pechanga — a celebration that lasted several hours. One church member after another stepped forward to offer something: a game, a song, a moment of shared delight. One woman arrived in full operatic garb, fan in hand, and sang beautifully. Others led silly games. All of it was offered with the singular purpose of making us feel welcome and loved.
Young people from the congregation — some with small children — served as our translators, cultural guides, and historical guides throughout the week. Older adults, most of them retired professionals — a lawyer, a doctor, a businessperson — spent entire days in the kitchen cooking for us, and were genuinely happy to do so.
In countless ways, this church embraced us and celebrated what it means to be a sister church.
I want to be clear: they are not in denial. One young woman said to me quietly, "We are almost out of air, and it won't be long until the little bit of air we have is gone." They know how close to the edge their situation is. They cannot imagine how things will break apart on the other side, or how things could possibly get any worse. But in the face of all of that, they have made a choice — a choice about what to focus on.
They are focusing on the gifts of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, gentleness, goodness. They are trusting in God and loving one another — and us — exuberantly, come what may. Somehow they know, in an unshakable way, that God is bigger than all of it.
And it was infectious.
Let us hold them close. Let us hold our government accountable. And let us fix our focus on the resources and opportunities we have to work for justice and peace in Cuba — inspired by the undaunted courage and joy of our brothers and sisters there.
~ Becky Waugh
