The Broom

The Broom

In the course of Cuban history, when the Soviets were in Cuba, a plot was hatched to destroy the people’s will to resist the revolution. Rual Castro was sent to Russia to learn how the Russians controlled their dissidents.  The result was the UMAP, (Units to Aid in Military Production). Anyone who was suspected of not supporting the revolution was sent to these “re-education” camps. This included many preachers. I met two such pastors in my travels. They survived two years in the Soviet styled re-education camp but held steadfast to their beliefs. One commented that he weighed one hundred forty five pounds when he went in and one hundred when he was released. These were dark times for the Cuban Church. This is the story of how one woman and her broom saved her church.

In the course of the revolution Castro decreed that anyone who owned a home could keep it. All Church schools were banned but Churches, as long as they were active, would be left alone. In Cuba a lot of Churches were also where the pastor and his family lived. The confiscation of a Church would also mean the loss of a pastor’s home. These were uncertain times for the Cubans.

Chap 2

It was a typical Sunday morning. Juan and his wife Milka were preparing the Church for worship.  Their two children were handing out bulletins at the door. Juan was opening the shutters and turning on the fans to make the building as comfortable as he could for the loyal patrons. Milka was greeting everyone at the doors by name as they entered. It was a small group that met here but no less important to God than the larger Church that met down the street. He was proud of the fact that he and his wife had brought the Church from nothing to the six regular attending families and the occasional visitor. He must admit though that visitors made him nervous. It seemed that since the revolution the very walls had ears. Any loose remark or questioning of Castro or the government could be met with swift action. He was careful to only preach the Gospel and not to enter into politics in the Church.

After the singing and praising the Lord had ended, he got up and thanked the participants for once again setting the praise tone high in the service. He walked to the pulpit, placed his sermon on the platform and grabbed the top edge of the podium and silently prayed for guidance. After the appropriate pause for effect, he straightened up to gather his strength to start when through the open back door came three armed men with rifles aimed at him! Three more came through the side door. In an instant he was thrown to the floor of the stage and handcuffed. He was more bewildered that scared. Strangely the guns didn’t bother him as much as the look of fear and doubt on the people’s faces. He was led out the back door without a word. One man grabbed his handcuffs and pulled his arms up so high that he had to walk bent over with his head down in humiliation. Milka stood in stunned silence. Her two children clung to her as if they would never let go. Her brain could not process what had just happened.

“Where are they taking Poppa?” They asked?

She could not answer. The silent shuffling of pews was the only sound as people hastened toward the door. As they looked back she could see the fear and confusion in their eyes.

“Why?” was the only question that her mind could process over and over but she had no answer. As soon as the Church was empty she hurriedly closed the doors lest they come back. The children wouldn’t leave her side. She got cross with them and demanded they stay put until she could get the shutters closed and the door locked. She grabbed them by the hand and ushered them out of the church and locked the door back behind her. She led them to the living quarters where they closed the windows and locked the doors and huddled together. She held them tight as they sobbed. She rocked back and forth in the sway of a grief stricken widow. Noon passed into evening. The children had cried themselves numb. She was exhausted but knew she had to get the children to eat something. A few crackers and a little juice was all they could muster. She led them to bed. She would insist that they get up in the morning and go to school. She stroked their hair gently until they drifted off into a fitful sleep. She got up to go to her own bed exhausted. She couldn’t bring herself to sleep on the bed she knew he wouldn’t share with her tonight.

Silently she slipped back into the Church and locked the door behind her. She hesitated for a second to allow her eyes to focus in the darkness. The only light was the moon shining through the cracks in the shutters. She walked up to the pulpit as if he would suddenly be there. She touched the sermon he had placed there early in the day. She went to the first pew, her spot. She sat down as if somehow the day would end and the dream would be over. Sometime in the night she dozed off. She woke with a start to sunlight creeping through the cracks in the shutters. In the night she must have lay down and slept. A whitish stain by her head told the tale of her tears. It had soaked into the wood through the finish and would not be removed. She arose to muscles so stiff and bruised from the hard pew she could scarcely move. She gathered her strength and moved toward the door. She opened the door to sunlight that seared her eyes. She moved along with one hand on the wall until her eyes adjusted. A sense of urgency washed over her. She must get the children off to school on time. She didn’t want to give them an excuse to confiscate her kids as they had her husband!

As the sleep left them the questions arose, “where is Poppa?”   “I don’t know” she replied as she dressed them.

“Will he be back soon?” “I don’t know” she replied.

“Is he OK?” “I DON’T KNOW!” She screamed. The look in their eyes made her immediately regret her tone of voice. She grabbed them both in a reassuring hug and said, “I don’t know the answers to your questions!” she was holding back the tears now. They knew to just be quiet and obey. She finally managed to get them off to school. She waved as they walked away and tried to smile a reassuring smile. Her thoughts wandered. After the euphoria of the revolution waned, rumors of people disappearing without a trace surfaced. She trembled at the thought. She vowed never to let that enter her mind again! She hadn’t eaten for twenty four hours and was feeling weak. She choked down some bread and a little juice and walked back into the sanctuary and sat in her spot. Grief once again swept through her. She began the involuntary rocking as she prayed. Wrung out and exhausted she got up. Suddenly she remembered that the church had not been swept.

It was her routine to get the kids off to school and come over to the church on Monday morning and sweep. Even as tired as she was she got her broom and started to sweep. The swaying motion of the broom felt good. This was therapy to her. This was something in her life that she could totally control. The more she swept the lighter she became. Shortly her shoulders straightened as she deftly maneuvered her broom. Before she knew it she was out the front door. As she always did she swept the debris down every step and into the street. She was so engrossed in her work she failed to see Manuel.  He was the local government official.  He was not very well liked in the community. As he stepped she swept. Her dust landed right on his foot!

“Woman, watch what you’re doing!” he yelled. She apologized profusely all the while taking her apron and cleaning his boot till it out shined the other. He smelled of rum and cigar smoke as always. His favorite pastime was drinking and smoking in the local pub. On Saturday nights he would drink till the wee hours of the morning and stagger home and sleep it off till at least noon. He gave her a disgusted look and stalked away. She let out a sigh of relief as she walked back into the church. It was empty and her footsteps echoed as she walked. Her sadness returned.

Morning drifted into afternoon. It would soon be time for the children to return. She did what chores she felt up to. She fixed the evening meal glancing at the door from time to time fully expecting Juan to burst through as he did after a hard day in the sugarcane fields or whatever odd job he was involved in at the time, famished and ready to eat, but he never did. Tuesday drifted into Wednesday, and on into the weekend. Saturday she was troubled. What would she do for Sunday? Juan would not be there to give the sermon. If they opened they could only sing and pray. None the less that is what Juan would expect.

Sunday morning at the appointed time the Church was opened. The tropical sun warmed the tin roof as it always did making it pop and crack, a comforting, normal sound. There would be no bulletin this week because she couldn’t afford to print them. The start time came and went. No one came. They were all afraid. She and her children sat on the first pew and read bible verses from the only bible the church owned. They attempted to sing but the church sounded hollow and empty even with their best effort. She sat dejected on the pew, her head in her hands. She began the familiar rock of grief. The children tried to comfort her to no avail. Suddenly she stopped raised her head and gasped. She had just remembered a conversation Juan had had with a visiting government official. As long as the church was attended and viable they would leave it alone! She jumped up and ran to the back of the church and slammed the doors. She didn’t want anyone to see that the church was empty! She began to pace up and down the aisle. The first lap to the back she slapped the door with her hand. The second lap she hit it with the heel of her hand. The children giggled. They had never seen their mother act like this. On the third trip down the aisle they caught a glimpse of her eyes. Even on their worst day, they had never seen the fire shoot from her eyes like that! She began to shout to the air.

“You took my man!” she yelled. She was back at the door so she hit it! “You took my man but you will NEVER take my faith!” The kids looked at each other and hid their faces only to peek out when she was headed back toward the door. “You took my man but you will NEVER take my Church!” On about the sixth trip the anger subsided only to be replaced by remorse and helplessness. She fell to her knees at the foot of the cross that hung on the wall behind the pulpit.

“How can I save this remnant of a church Lord?” She asked. She was completely spent. How long she was there she did not know. She did not even realize that the children were kneeling beside her. They were scared for her. As she was getting in a position where the children could help her up, a strong odor seemed to permeate the church. “What was that odor?” she wondered. Then it hit her. That was the odor of the Cuban cigars Manuel smoked. She sat back down hard on her backside. She stared into space as God’s plan was unveiled. Of course, if anyone complained and turned her in it would have to go through Manuel! He spent most of the day Sunday faced down on his mattress sleeping off his Saturday night rum. She remembered her encounter with him on Monday morning. He would never check. Monday morning she would be ready. She finished closing up the church. She took the children to the local park that afternoon. They would be occupied and she could think.

Monday morning she rose early to pray. She had managed to sleep all night in her own bed! She got the children off to school and for a change her smile was genuine, not forced. She watched as they disappeared down the road and then started to implement her plan. She put on her armor,( her apron) and grabbed her sword,(her broom). She then scooped a handful of dusty dirt, prayed over it and put it in her apron pocket just in case she didn’t have enough from sweeping. She opened the shutters so she could spot him as he walked by, then she swept. As he approached she sprinkled the dirt on the floor in front of her broom and proceeded to sweep it out the door. This time though she was watching for him.

This time he spotted her and walked as close to the street as he could.

“Crazy broom Lady, I’m coming through!” he said with disgust.

“Again, I am so sorry for last week. They just seem to leave so much dirt inside the church. Please pass, I will stop.” She said. She wanted just enough recognition that he would remember but not so much he would be curious. Week after week she kept up the charade. People started to return to the church. No sermons but lots of singing and fervent prayer sessions and Bible study. She had heard news that the pastors that were abducted were indeed alive and being re-educated in forced labor camps. She was strengthened by the rumors. Still she caught herself glancing at the door of the church often in hopes of seeing his silhouette coming through the door. A year passed and he didn’t return.

Almost two years to the day it happened. A truck pulled up, a shout of “Get out” was heard and the truck sped off. As she rose to investigate a man walked up the steps. She didn’t recognize him at first. This gaunt old looking man stood in her doorway. She approached him tentatively. His cheek bones stuck out and his hair was unkempt and long. His clothes hung on him and his walk was unsteady and weak. He stepped into the light and she looked into his eyes. It was Juan! She gently touched his cheek. Her hands trembled and the tears flowed. He was home!  Praise God he’s home!

He placed his arm around her shoulder and she put her arm around him as they walked together down the aisle. She felt his ribs protruding under his shirt. He walked as straight as he could with his head held high. They walked together arm in arm to the Pulpit. She knew that he had not forsaken his faith! He grabbed the front of the pulpit as he had done so many Sundays ago. The only thing that had kept him going through his ordeal was the hope of someday seeing his family, his wife and children, in the front row as he again ministered to the people in his church. He looked down and there was the sermon on the pulpit he had placed there so long ago! A flood of emotion burst forth. He had been totally restored!

All he could do was shout “Praise God! Praise God! PRAISE GOD!”

Dan Fulton   03/16/17