Medieval Christianity was not a monolithic, Europe-centered institution—it was a network of diverse communities stretching from Ethiopia to Jerusalem and beyond. One Ethiopian monk’s bold attempt to reshape his church’s hierarchy offers a striking example of how Christian communities across the medieval world were deeply interconnected.
By Cait Stevenson
There’s no question that the term “medieval world” means something radically different today than it did in 1953. That’s when R. W. Southern published the massively important, paradigm-shifting, and somehow still readable The Making of the Middle Ages—which accepted a thin arc of northern France and England, almost exclusively, as making the Middle Ages. Today, the adventurous follow the Indian Ocean trade currents from the Swahili city-states to Arabia to India; archaeological data about the Mongols serves as evidence for the environmental history of Europe; the sheer volume of scholarship on “perceptions of the [Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Zoroastrian] Other” could sink an aircraft carrier.
While the concept of a “Global Middle Ages” is now widely accepted, scholars remain hesitant to apply the same perspective to global Christianity. But the existence of a Christian world was no less true in the High Middle Ages than in late antiquity or the age of empire. This refers to the presence of thriving Christian communities, of course, but equally to moments of connection between them.
One of the most important places that Christians encountered each other was, naturally enough, in Jerusalem. Although scholars have recently questioned the existence of a native Near Eastern Christian population in Jerusalem upon the Latin Crusaders’ arrival in 1099, groups from all points of the medieval world wound their way to the city over the next century. After his conquest in 1187, Saladin extended exemptions from one of his new taxes to Coptic, Greek, Georgian, and Ethiopian Christians.
In 1237, during the brief sequel of Latin rule, one Ethiopian monk decided to work this system to his—and his kingdom’s—advantage.
Ethiopia and its Church had somewhat of a hierarchy problem: they were dependent on the Coptic patriarch in Alexandria to consecrate their metropolitan and bishops. This kept the Ethiopian Church tied theologically and politically to the Egyptian Church more than the Ethiopians preferred, especially as they came into increasing contact in places like Jerusalem.
Ethiopia in a 1467 version of Ptolemy Cosmographia
For its part, Jerusalem lay on the eastern side of the boundary between the patriarchates of Alexandria and Antioch. This had traditionally made sense, given Coptic Christianity’s basis in northeastern Africa. But the increasing numbers of Copts in the city from the twelfth century onward led Alexandrian patriarch Cyril III ibn Laqlaq to cross jurisdictional borders and consecrate a Coptic bishop for the city in 1237.
This did not make the Patriarch of Antioch very happy, and it was apparently quite public knowledge that it did not make him happy. An Ethiopian monk named Thomas saw this as his opening. He requested that Antiochene primate Ignatius consecrate him as the metropolitan of Ethiopia (“Abyssinia”). It would allow Ignatius to retaliate against the Copts for superseding his authority in Jerusalem and provide a layer of independence for the Ethiopian Church from their northern neighbors.
Ignatius and his advisors, according to the Syrian chronicler Bar Hebraeus, contemplated the action but worried about religious-political ramifications from the Copts (e.g., for Syriac Christians in Alexandrian territory). He wanted a fourth-party mediator. Who could that be? Well, the Franks weren’t mixed up in this controversy, were they?
And so, a Dominican friar found himself at the center of a high-stakes diplomatic dispute between the Coptic and Jacobite patriarchs—triggered by one Ethiopian monk’s bold maneuver.
He wasn’t very good at his job, unfortunately. No resolution was ever negotiated. And the Dominican’s apparent original disapproval of Thomas’ consecration was overridden by fiat. According to Bar Hebraeus, Ignatius ended up consecrating Thomas but justifying his actions to Cyril as a “translation mistake.” Right.
This high-profile case shows just how connected both the different churches and their members could be in the Middle Ages. It’s also noteworthy how secondary and ineffective a role the Latin Church played in the whole situation—present and accepted, including in authoritative roles, but not serving as any kind of “final word” or highest hierarchical authority.
Looking back from the modern and especially early modern world, it seems impossible to separate “global Christianity” from European imperialism. The case of the ambitious Ethiopian monk reveals that medieval Christianity was shaped by interactions far beyond Western Europe—suggesting that a truly global perspective is essential for understanding its history.
Medieval Christianity was not a monolithic, Europe-centered institution—it was a network of diverse communities stretching from Ethiopia to Jerusalem and beyond. One Ethiopian monk’s bold attempt to reshape his church’s hierarchy offers a striking example of how Christian communities across the medieval world were deeply interconnected.
By Cait Stevenson
There’s no question that the term “medieval world” means something radically different today than it did in 1953. That’s when R. W. Southern published the massively important, paradigm-shifting, and somehow still readable The Making of the Middle Ages—which accepted a thin arc of northern France and England, almost exclusively, as making the Middle Ages. Today, the adventurous follow the Indian Ocean trade currents from the Swahili city-states to Arabia to India; archaeological data about the Mongols serves as evidence for the environmental history of Europe; the sheer volume of scholarship on “perceptions of the [Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Zoroastrian] Other” could sink an aircraft carrier.
While the concept of a “Global Middle Ages” is now widely accepted, scholars remain hesitant to apply the same perspective to global Christianity. But the existence of a Christian world was no less true in the High Middle Ages than in late antiquity or the age of empire. This refers to the presence of thriving Christian communities, of course, but equally to moments of connection between them.
One of the most important places that Christians encountered each other was, naturally enough, in Jerusalem. Although scholars have recently questioned the existence of a native Near Eastern Christian population in Jerusalem upon the Latin Crusaders’ arrival in 1099, groups from all points of the medieval world wound their way to the city over the next century. After his conquest in 1187, Saladin extended exemptions from one of his new taxes to Coptic, Greek, Georgian, and Ethiopian Christians.
In 1237, during the brief sequel of Latin rule, one Ethiopian monk decided to work this system to his—and his kingdom’s—advantage.
Ethiopia and its Church had somewhat of a hierarchy problem: they were dependent on the Coptic patriarch in Alexandria to consecrate their metropolitan and bishops. This kept the Ethiopian Church tied theologically and politically to the Egyptian Church more than the Ethiopians preferred, especially as they came into increasing contact in places like Jerusalem.
For its part, Jerusalem lay on the eastern side of the boundary between the patriarchates of Alexandria and Antioch. This had traditionally made sense, given Coptic Christianity’s basis in northeastern Africa. But the increasing numbers of Copts in the city from the twelfth century onward led Alexandrian patriarch Cyril III ibn Laqlaq to cross jurisdictional borders and consecrate a Coptic bishop for the city in 1237.
This did not make the Patriarch of Antioch very happy, and it was apparently quite public knowledge that it did not make him happy. An Ethiopian monk named Thomas saw this as his opening. He requested that Antiochene primate Ignatius consecrate him as the metropolitan of Ethiopia (“Abyssinia”). It would allow Ignatius to retaliate against the Copts for superseding his authority in Jerusalem and provide a layer of independence for the Ethiopian Church from their northern neighbors.
Ignatius and his advisors, according to the Syrian chronicler Bar Hebraeus, contemplated the action but worried about religious-political ramifications from the Copts (e.g., for Syriac Christians in Alexandrian territory). He wanted a fourth-party mediator. Who could that be? Well, the Franks weren’t mixed up in this controversy, were they?
And so, a Dominican friar found himself at the center of a high-stakes diplomatic dispute between the Coptic and Jacobite patriarchs—triggered by one Ethiopian monk’s bold maneuver.
He wasn’t very good at his job, unfortunately. No resolution was ever negotiated. And the Dominican’s apparent original disapproval of Thomas’ consecration was overridden by fiat. According to Bar Hebraeus, Ignatius ended up consecrating Thomas but justifying his actions to Cyril as a “translation mistake.” Right.
This high-profile case shows just how connected both the different churches and their members could be in the Middle Ages. It’s also noteworthy how secondary and ineffective a role the Latin Church played in the whole situation—present and accepted, including in authoritative roles, but not serving as any kind of “final word” or highest hierarchical authority.
Looking back from the modern and especially early modern world, it seems impossible to separate “global Christianity” from European imperialism. The case of the ambitious Ethiopian monk reveals that medieval Christianity was shaped by interactions far beyond Western Europe—suggesting that a truly global perspective is essential for understanding its history.
Cait Stevenson earned her PhD in medieval history from the University of Notre Dame. She is the author of How to Slay a Dragon: A Fantasy Hero’s Guide to the Real Middle Ages. You can follow her on BlueSky @anyfourcastles.bsky.social
Subscribe to Medievalverse
Related Posts