My Non-Interview with Quaker Pastor Heredio Santos Balmaceda
HAVANA TIMES – I arrived at the home of now-retired Quaker pastor Heredio Santos Balmaseda, who has lived in Banes, Cuba for many years. He spent more than half his life serving at one of the Protestant churches in this province. Banes is about a two-hours drive from Holguin, depending on the speed of the car and whether the driver wants to stop from time to time to go to the bathroom, drink coffee, or drop off and pick up passengers along the way.
When I arrived, the pastor wasn’t home. His eyes had been operated on, and he was staying in the home of his sister-in-law. But thankfully, he looked as robust and strong as always, throwing food to the chickens. He’s been my pastor and spiritual father for nearly thirty years.
We greeted each other with the same joy we’ve expressed since we first met – praised be God. In the middle of the conversation, I proposed that he accept having me interview him, but with the graciousness and modesty he’s always shown he responded that he had to think about it, because he didn’t consider himself a person to utter many declarations. “Ah, no?” I asked him. “And why not, since you’re an important figure from the Quaker church and from Holguin’s ecumenical movement.”
He remarked that some time ago, the poet Youer Mariño, president of the Hermanos Saenz Association had also suggested an interview, and with some embarrassment, he also answered no. Because he’s very fearful of such things.
“Pastor, doesn’t it seem like a good idea for future generations to know your opinions about the church during the years you served there, about God, life, the spirituality of the people, your experiences, and so many other things you’d like to share?
He answered that, frankly, it’s not something that interests him much. And he gave me an answer that left me with a smile on my face and a question in my heart. He said: I believe that my work, and what I’m involved in will end with my death.
It doesn’t matter much to him. First, because he doesn’t consider himself of that character he calls universal, to be giving declarations that remain for posterity. Also, he considers his work to be encapsulated in the way of being he had, his work in the community, and in the conversations and other interactions he had with his akin.
He spoke to me of his models, for example the pastors who came before him, such as Arsenio Catala, Juan Sierra and Juan Guzman. They were very modest men, kindly, with an admirable spirituality, and left nothing other than their good works in their congregations and in society in general.
At one point in our conversation, he recalled to me – right now, I don’t remember what led to this anecdote – a story about Arsenio Catala, who in addition to being a pastor was a tailor and had worked very hard for the church. When the Revolution triumphed, many brothers and sisters joined the revolutionary process, at that moment whether they were Communists or Christians. And Catala was heard saying from the Havana boardwalk: “I’ve plowed the sea.”
I speculate that he wanted to tell me that this wasn’t precisely his own experience, but possibly that of anyone. Or, it could have been his case also, but it doesn’t worry him much, because he, Heredio Santos, had given the best of himself.
“Then, you prefer something like that, remaining anonymous?” I asked him. “Yes, something like that,” he replied. “I prefer to finish my life in public anonymity. I’ll only tell you that I prefer historic Quakerism and I feel some discomfort with the church of Cuba in general.”
With this, I could perhaps understand why that anecdote about Pastor Catala had come up. The church, he remarked, can’t be content just to seem like a church. The church has to be a place where one has a true encounter, a personal encounter, with Jesus Christ. The church has to be very honest about this experience. If not, it’s not a church – it’s just another institution, he finished saying.
As happens every time when I meet Pastor Heredio, I learned a lot. His family was so kind as to invite me to dine with them. I accepted gratefully. Martha served me on the side that’s reserved for the head of the family. That surprised me.
In this house they were more feminist than me. We spoke a little more about the situation of Cuba and Venezuela. These topics generally are never missing in our conversations. We said goodbye. Despite all this, I would have liked to have done the interview with him. You never know, maybe he’ll give me the honor some other time.
Read more from the diary of Lien Estrada here on Havana Times.