Ethiopian Orthodox Christian monks have worshipped at the monastery of Debre Damo since the sixth century. Perched on a mountaintop in northern Tigray, the complex must be reached via a leather rope slung down a cliff that has been scaled by generations of worshippers.
At the edges of the mountain, monks recite quiet prayers as they gaze down at the surrounding highlands, alive with songbirds. Yet even here, the schism tearing apart Ethiopia’s 1,700-year-old church has split opinion.
The rift began in 2021 when the province’s senior clergy cut ties with the Holy Synod in Addis Ababa, the capital, angry at its failure to condemn the brutal war then raging in Tigray. When they ordained 11 new archbishops and formed their own synod in 2023, they were promptly excommunicated.
As Ethiopia prepares for its Christmas, which roughly 36 million Orthodox Christians celebrate on 7 January, the rift shows no sign of healing. At times, it can seem arcane, featuring allusions to ecclesiastical law and ancient myths.
But it mirrors the many divisions that still afflict this vast, war-riven nation of 120 million people more than two years after a flawed ceasefire ended the bloodshed in Tigray while seeding fresh conflict in the neighbouring region of Amhara.
At his stone home in Debre Damo’s sprawling monastery complex, Menbere Birhanemeskal, a monk, says Tigray’s bishops were right to break away.
Like many in this region, he believes a genocide was perpetrated against ethnic Tigrayans, who number 6 million and once dominated Ethiopia’s fractious federation. “Every fighter came with a mission to destroy our people and culture, but the synod remained silent,” says Menbere.
Not all Debre Damo’s 300 monks believe that splitting is the right decision, however. At 34, Kiros Fisseha is one of the youngest monks. He believes the church should rise above ethnic politics and work to heal the wounds of Ethiopia’s wars. “Religious leaders should serve all who follow the Orthodox religion, so it is wrong to separate from them,” says Kiros. “I hope they reconcile as one.”
During the Tigray war, hundreds of priests were slaughtered. In one district alone, 31 holy sites sustained damage. Massacres took place at churches including one at Maryam Dengelat, about 20 miles south-east of Debre Damo, where more than 160 worshippers were killed at a festival for Saint Mary. Among the dead were teenage choir members who had sung at the local church the day before.
When Abune Mathias, the church’s patriarch and himself an ethnic Tigrayan, condemned the war as “the highest brutality and cruelty” in a video smuggled out of the country, the authorities placed him under house arrest. Several of his bishops said his views did not reflect those of the church.
This episode still rankles with Petros Haileselassie, one of the rebel Tigray bishops. He accuses the church of not only failing to speak out against the war, but of actively supporting it by sending priests to bless frontline troops and through fundraising.
“After the war started, the Ethiopian Orthodox church became supporters and leaders of the genocidal war,” Petros says at a meeting of the Tigray synod in Axum, an ancient northern town where Christianity was first adopted as the state religion in the fourth century. “Our religion always teaches love, but they betrayed Christian principles,” he says.
In August, the original synod formally apologised for failing to call for peace. But Petros says the apology did not go far enough. “They did not condemn the war or acknowledge their role in supporting genocide. They could have been talking about any war in the world.”
The synod’s general secretary Petros Tibebu, Petros Tibebu, who is now in exile, rejects allegations the church colluded in the war and claims that Tigray’s politicians engineered the split for political gain. “This is not religion. It’s pure politics,” he says. “Ethnic politicians want to control and destroy the church because it is the pillar of Ethiopian unity.”
Ethiopia’s Orthodox church holds tremendous sway and often becomes embroiled in political disputes. In the 1990s, two dozen bishops were exiled by the former regime and did not return until 2018. The synod’s general secretary was among them. In February, he was again barred entry into Ethiopia.
In 2023, the church survived a short-lived schism when a group of bishops from Oromia, Ethiopia’s most populous region, tried to break away to hold services in their language. The security forces opened fire on one protest, killing 30 people, according to church officials.
There is an expectation in Ethiopia that the church will play a prominent role in a landmark transitional justice process currently under way, but there are fears its internal disputes could hamper truth-seeking and reconciliation efforts.
In Tigray, the turquoise and white church of Amanuel Maago still lies in ruins more than four years after it was struck by at least four artillery rounds. The shells lit a fire that burned the roof and destroyed almost everything inside. The only surviving relic was a badly charred manuscript believed to date from the fourth century.
Afterwards, soldiers came and looted the donation box, says Aymut Woreuta, a priest who has served the church for 60 years. Today, piles of logs and broken metal sheets lie scattered around the church and a heavy padlock secures its door.
Aymut says he knows nothing of the schism among the bishops. His main concern is opening up for worshippers again. “We are a poor community of farmers. How will we pay to repair the church?”
