“Eagerly their lay people gather for celebration, and then both men and women begin to exult and clap their hands, to gather in circles… and sometimes they do this so fervently and devoutly that they become exhausted from it.” An American Pentecostal prayer service? Not quite. The words were written in 1502 by Bernhard von Breidenbach, a German pilgrim who came to Jerusalem and was introduced to the Ethiopian Christian community, in the very same place where you can meet them today.
Ethiopian Christianity is one of the religion’s oldest sects and one of the least familiar to Western Christians, although the story of the first Ethiopian Christian is one of the best loved in scripture. He was a high official of the Queen of Ethiopia, a eunuch who was baptized on “the desert road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza” by the Apostle Philip (Acts 8:26-40). That Ethiopian eunuch, we are told, “went on his way rejoicing,” and we can assume he brought Christianity to Ethiopia.
Still, the Ethiopian church remained small, because it did not accept a basic tenet that the ancient church wrestled with for centuries – and finally inscribed in canonical stone – about how the human and divine elements in the nature of Jesus expressed themselves. The Ethiopians believe differently than the mainstream churches about the way Jesus’ human and divine natures were entwined in one, and they are known as monophysites (“one nature” in Greek). They share this belief with other ancient churches like the Syrian Jacobites.
The Ethiopian monastery in Jerusalem is adjacent to the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. One has to use the term “adjacent” loosely, because during centuries of destruction and rebuilding in the area, the monastery actually ended up on the roof of one of the Holy Sepulcher’s myriad ancient levels, in an area that was originally an interior portion of the church in the 12th century. The springs of the Gothic ceiling arches of this part of the church can still be seen on top of the walls around the edges of the courtyard.
Ethiopian tradition proudly claims that King Solomon gave them this property. Historians may dispute the accuracy of the tale, but the connection between the wise biblical king and the Ethiopians is a powerful one – going back to the story of the Queen of Sheba (1 Kings 10:1-13), who came to Jerusalem bearing gifts and riddles for Solomon. Scholars see the similarity between some Ethiopian customs and Jewish ones as dating back to this time. The Jewish community of Ethiopia, many of whose members are now coming to live in Israel, may have migrated to Ethiopia at this time from the Holy Land.
At the doorway to the monastery stands an ancient pillar marking the Ninth Station of the Cross, where tradition says Jesus fell for the third time while carrying the cross. As you step into the monastery’s immaculate courtyard, you may receive a gentle smile of welcome from one of the elderly monks seated on a rickety folding chair. English is not spoken here, but the international language of a friendly greeting is recognizable anywhere. Even on a hot day, there’s shade under a great pepper tree in one corner of the courtyard, where you can gather to read scripture.
It’s hard to tell how many people live in this compound, known as Deir al-Sultan – “the sultan’s monastery.” Behind every one of a dozen or so low green doors is a tiny room where a monk spends most of his day praying. You may see Ethiopian women, members of the small community or pilgrims cooking for the monks in the small communal kitchen. In the quiet simplicity of this place, it’s hard to believe that the bustling, noisy main market street of Jerusalem’s Old City is only 100 yards away.
Duck through a low doorway to enter the first of two small chapels. It will take your eyes a moment to adjust to the dim interior and then another moment to adjust to the sight of a church the likes of which you have probably never seen. Don’t be surprised if a monk comes forward from the shadows at the back and invites you to take a seat on one of the rough wooden pews. In front of you is a wooden wall inlaid with geometric designs in ivory. The wall has a doorway, which is roped off but reveals the inner sanctum where the altar is located, a separation reminiscent of Solomon’s Temple. On the wall are recent paintings, one of which depicts the visit of the Queen of Sheba to King Solomon. The artist’s mixture of past and present is a bit on the whimsical side – in Solomon’s retinue he depicts ultra-Orthodox Jews in business suits, complete with black hats and side-curls!
The most moving moment of a visit here is when the monk walks slowly to the front of the wall and takes a cross-shaped book from the corner. He begins chanting in an unfamiliar language – gez, the ancient sacred language of Ethiopia (the same language that is used for prayer by Ethiopian Jews). We have no way of knowing what he is chanting, until he comes to two words – “Philip” and “Gaza.” Here he pauses to let it sink in that he is reading the story of the beginnings of his people’s bond with Christianity – the story of Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch.
Now its time to descend a narrow flight of well-worn stone steps to a second chapel, the ivory geometric patterns in its wooden altar-wall shining like stars in the dimness, where another monk will open an old wooden door to let you out.
Blinking in the sunlight, it may take you a moment to realize that in the middle of 21st century Jerusalem, you’ve just been able to step back into the far reaches of Christian history and tradition.
