If you ever find yourself about 20 miles south of Havana in the small town of El Rincón, you’ll see something that stays with you. People crawling. Not just a few, but dozens, sometimes hundreds, dragging their bodies across concrete or carrying heavy stones tied to their ankles. They are heading toward the Iglesia de San Lazaro, a sanctuary that sits at the center of one of the most intense displays of faith in the Western Hemisphere. It’s raw. Honestly, for the uninitiated, it’s a bit jarring.
But this isn't just about some old building or a standard Sunday mass. The Iglesia de San Lazaro represents a unique collision of Catholic tradition and Afro-Cuban Santería. It’s where the lines between the biblical Lazarus and the Orisha Babalú-Ayé get so blurred you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.
The Dual Identity of the Iglesia de San Lazaro
Most people visiting Cuba stick to the colorful walls of Old Havana, but if you want to understand the Cuban soul, you have to go to El Rincón. The church itself is officially the National Sanctuary of San Lázaro. Architecturally? It’s modest. It doesn’t have the soaring gothic spires of Europe or the gold-leafed excess of colonial Mexico. It’s a colonial-style structure with a simple bell tower, but the energy inside is electric.
The "San Lazaro" worshipped here is a complicated figure. In the Catholic tradition, he's the poor beggar covered in sores, often depicted with dogs licking his wounds. However, for many Cubans, he is Babalú-Ayé. In Santería, Babalú-Ayé is the deity of smallpox, leprosy, and all skin diseases. He’s powerful, feared, and deeply loved. When you see thousands of people wearing purple burlap—the color of the Orisha—you realize the Iglesia de San Lazaro is serving two masters at once, and it does so with a grace that is uniquely Cuban.
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Why December 17th is Absolute Chaos (In a Good Way)
Every December 17th, the road to El Rincón turns into a sea of purple. It’s the feast day. People travel from every province. Some walk for days. You’ll see famous Cuban musicians and athletes alongside grandmothers and toddlers. They aren’t just there to pray; they are there to pay a manda (a promise).
If a child gets sick or a family member is facing prison, a Cuban might make a deal with Saint Lazarus. "If you save them, I will walk to your church on my knees." They keep those promises. The air is thick with the smell of cigars—often used in Santería rituals—and the sound of coins hitting the collection boxes. It’s loud. It’s sweaty. It’s deeply moving. Even if you aren't religious, the sheer willpower on display is enough to give you chills.
Beyond the Surface: What Most Tourists Miss
The sanctuary isn't just a place for prayer; it’s part of a larger complex that includes a leprosarium. This is the practical side of the miracle. Historically, the church and the hospital worked hand-in-hand to care for those suffering from skin diseases that society had cast aside. It gives the site a weight of actual, physical suffering and healing that you don't get at more "polished" tourist cathedrals.
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The interior of the Iglesia de San Lazaro is filled with "ex-votos." These are little tokens of thanks. You’ll see crutches hanging from the walls, discarded by people who believe they were healed. There are small wax body parts, photos of loved ones, and handwritten notes pinned to every available surface. It’s a living museum of human desperation and hope.
The Iconography and the Dogs
Look closely at the statue of San Lazaro. You’ll notice the dogs. In the biblical story, the dogs licked the beggar's sores. In Cuba, dogs are treated with a sort of sacred respect because of this connection. You'll often see stray dogs wandering around the grounds of the church in El Rincón, and nobody shooes them away. They are part of the family here.
This connection to illness and healing is why the church remains so relevant. In a country that has faced decades of economic hardship and shortages of medicine, people turn to the spiritual when the physical world fails them. San Lazaro is the "doctor of the poor."
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Navigating the Pilgrimage: A Practical Look
If you’re planning to visit, don't just show up and start snapping photos of people in pain. That’s a quick way to get some very angry looks. This is a place of deep, personal sacrifice.
- Transport is a journey in itself. You can take a taxi from Havana, which is the easiest way, or brave the "pajaritos" (local buses) if you want the full experience.
- Dress modestly. Even though it’s hot, it is a functioning church.
- Bring offerings. Most people bring sunflowers (yellow for Oshun, but common here too) or purple flowers. Candles are a big deal.
- The "Water of San Lazaro." There’s a fountain on the grounds. People believe the water has healing properties. You’ll see locals filling up jugs to take home. Join in. It’s cold and refreshing if nothing else.
The Conflict with the Official Church
It’s worth noting that the Catholic Church hierarchy hasn't always been thrilled with the Santería elements. For a long time, there was a push to "purify" the worship at the Iglesia de San Lazaro. But they eventually realized that the people's faith was unshakeable. You can't separate the Saint from the Orisha in the minds of the practitioners. Today, there’s a sort of tense but functional truce. The priests perform the sacraments, and the people bring their cigars and honey for Babalú-Ayé. It works. It’s messy, but it works.
Actionable Insights for Your Visit
To truly appreciate the Iglesia de San Lazaro, you have to look past the religious labels. It is a site of extreme human resilience.
- Go on a weekday if you want to see the architecture and the ex-votos without the crushing crowds of the weekend or the feast day.
- Talk to the vendors outside. They sell everything from specialized San Lazaro candles to herbal remedies. They are often repositories of local folklore and can tell you stories you won't find in any guidebook.
- Observe the silence. Inside the main sanctuary, despite the crowds, there is often a heavy, respectful silence. Follow suit.
- Check your privilege. Seeing someone drag themselves across the ground is intense. Recognize that for them, this is the most important day of their year—or their life.
If you want to understand the heartbeat of Cuba, skip the Varadero resorts for a day. Head to El Rincón. The Iglesia de San Lazaro isn't just a destination; it's an experience that challenges what you think you know about faith and what the human body is capable of enduring for the sake of the spirit.
Next Steps for the Curious Traveler
Before you head out, make sure you have small bills (CUP or MLC) for donations and offerings, as the church relies heavily on these to support the neighboring hospital. Research the life of Babalú-Ayé to understand the symbols you'll see, like the cowrie shells and the dry corn. Finally, arrange your return transport in advance; El Rincón is a small town, and finding a ride back to Havana in the late afternoon can be surprisingly tricky.