Wonders of a Medieval World

Prince Lalibela’s chalice was poisoned by his brother, jealous that his hold on the thrown may be usurped. In a state of half-death he was lifted up to heaven by some benevolent angels and shown a kingdom of churches cut into solid rock. ‘Replicate these’, he was told ‘or else you’re in the kak’.

Angels seem to be everywhere in Ethiopia. When they’re not trawling for gargantuan fish in Lake Tana they’re helping to chisel out great churches from solid granite. And witnessing the thirteen churches excavated from slabs of solid rock its easy to see how supernatural forces could be the only explanation for this seemingly insurmountable task. Even the ever blame-able free-masons have been thrown in the conspiratorial mix. Personally I’m more inclined to attribute it to the good old natural force of slavery because, as the Egyptians discovered over four thousand years ago, slavery did – unfortunately – get shit done. Nonetheless it’s difficult not to be moved to Biblical revelation when standing under an eleven meter roof supported by thirty six pillars, all carved from the top down into one of Gods less pliable substances. Throw in the fact that it was all done deep in the dramatic Rift Valley scar of the Ethiopian highlands, with endless rows of mountains fading to the horizon in all directions, and its enough to make you take Dr Albans lead and sing ‘Hallelujah!’.

 

These highland mountains likewise feel like they belong in some bizarre, folklorish world. Or at least another century. Like the twelfth. Massive fields of grain are tilled with cattle-ploughs, serfs scurry around in rags pleading for rain to stave off starvation, lepers hobble around begging for alms. I haven’t heard of a case of leprosy since the New Testament. Electricity is a distant rumour, iron tools an essential, bad dentition a given. Then there is the power of the clergy – apparently dwarfing that of the state in these parts. Allegedly employment or even social acceptance relies largely on keeping the local religious big-wigs in a ready supply of garish clothing. Or at least some revered bling. Cross them and Sodom and Gomorra will look like a light smattering of confetti at Brad and Angelinas wedding. And these tithes are not reserved exclusively for their feudal population. Tourists too now have to pay extortionate fees for the privilege of setting foot in any religious building – all of which goes straight into the slimey priest’s leathery money purse.

As Lalibela completed the final chip out of the final church, the angels descended for a moving rendition of ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’. So it was that he cemented his place in heaven, the history books and every tourist’s vocabulary. And in doing so did more to further Christianity in the area than any other ruler before or since. So it seems a real pity that these amazing churches – still sites of cross-continental religious pilgrimage and literally shaking with spiritual power – are now largely in the hands of this serpentine clergy who seem keener on catching the Sunderland vs. Man City game on their 42 inch televisions than showcasing one of the world’s great Wonders. Maybe some more angelic revelations are in order. Or at least a few more poisoned chalices.