The Crucifix in Light of the Current Ethiopian Socio-Political Climate

“What else does the Horn of Africa need? Peace! How come this peace be realized if we all aspire to our megalothymic desires and if none of us choose to be reminded that we all are intrinsically the same: sinners?” 

For years, my mind couldn’t remain calm, even for a day, without pondering the situation in Ethiopia. Allow me to take you back to where it all began, post-2016 Irreechaa Massacre. At that time, I was a third-year theology student and a full-time minister at our local church. Prior to the 2016 Irreechaa Massacre, I was, to put it mildly, politically naïve.

The Journey in Political Theology

The tragic events of October 2016 left me with lingering questions, a lasting damage. Even today, reflecting on it remains challenging. It all began with a Facebook post by a member of our church on the very day of the massacre. This person claimed that God was responsible for the Irreechaa Massacre. It was not just theologically inaccurate but also deeply insensitive. However, it left me grappling with a bigger question: How should a Christian respond to social justice issues, especially in the face of a dictatorial regime that decimates young members of the community?

This question didn’t dissipate overnight. It persisted over the following years. Even now, as a PhD student in leadership, my greatest internal conflict revolves around making a difference in the society I live in, particularly addressing the predominant societal challenge—the overarching political turmoil. How can I, as a Christian, effect change in my society? Indeed, our foremost challenge is political.

The loss of life is rampant. Countless souls have perished and continue to do so in the Tigray war. Western Oromia has turned into a battleground. Benishangul Gumuz is beyond the control of the Federal government. Conflict rages along the borders of Afar and Somali regional states. The Amhara region grapples with insurgencies (Ataye, North Shewa, Qimant, Tigray Defense Force, etc.) and external incursions (Sudan). The death toll from conflicts surpasses that of any other issue, including diseases. Yes, we are living in a state of hell.

By 2021, the country was engulfed in more chaos than I had experienced in my lifetime. The current issues dwarf the October 2016 Massacre. Many are gripped by fear, worrying not just about the fate of the country but primarily about their own lives, as a friend recently confided in me.

I concur with my friend. Life has become terrifyingly evil. The depths of malevolence we witness today are beyond my comprehension. Murders happen in broad daylight. Women suffer rape, and properties are pillaged. Children meet their demise alongside their families. What is happening? I cannot comprehend the perplexing issues at play here.

Moreover, the government plans elections on June 5. I’m uncertain whether the election is a prudent idea, and I’d rather refrain from expressing an opinion. However, many fear the repercussions. Some call for its cancellation, while others have withdrawn from the election early. Still, some advocate for continuing the election campaign. As I mentioned, I’m unsure if this election will resolve the prevailing problems.

Confession time: I’ve delved into the politics and political theology of Ethiopia in my quest to understand the situation and seek plausible solutions. The reflections on the crucifix stem from recent meditations and readings.

Megalothymia, Identity Politics, and the Crucifix

One of the primary issues I encountered is the global rise of identity politics, garnering significant support among groups identified by Francis Fukuyama as possessing “Megalothymia” — the desire for superior recognition. The resurgence of identity politics, focusing on race, ethnicity, or religion, has become prominent worldwide, a stark departure from the post-World War II and USSR Balkanization eras. This shift became vivid after Donald Trump’s presidency, especially in the West.

Contrary to Fukuyama’s view, Ethiopia has grappled with identity conflicts since its inception. Over the past 50 years, especially since the 1970s student movement leading to the Derg military Junta, Ethiopia has known no respite. The country’s factions have waged battles under the guise of identity. We’ve long exhibited megalothymic tendencies, predating the Western awakening post-Donald Trump.

It was during this period that I began contemplating “The Crucified God,” borrowing from Jurgen Moltmann’s famous phrase. One might wonder about the relevance of the crucifix in today’s megalothymic society. Perhaps, it holds everything. Allow me to outline how the crucifix relates to the present socio-political situation in the Horn of Africa.

Firstly, the cross signifies where God was crucified, identifying with sinners. If humanity has an identity, it’s the identity of being sinners—fallen and lacking in God’s glory. Racial and ethnic identities, in all their glory, amount to cosmic failures at the cross. The cross embodies the identity of each of us. Whether Amhara, Oromo, Tigre, or Afar, we all share this identity of failure. We’re all losers. The White Supremacists and the Black Lives Matter advocates alike stand as sinners at the Cross. Both proponents of social justice and governing bodies are sinners. This is scandalous because the cross implicates both oppressors and liberators as sinners, standing against all megalothymic desires.

Secondly, Pontius Pilate ordered a writing to be affixed above Jesus Christ’s cross: “Jesus the Nazarene, King of the Jews,” inscribed in three languages: Hebrew, Latin, and Greek. Jesus was called “King of the Jews” at both the beginning and end of His life. The Magi referred to Him as such at His birth, while Pilate, perhaps mockingly, declared it at His death. Although the cross was meant to symbolize the identity of all sinners, it also bore the identity “King of the Jews.” Christ was labeled as such by Gentiles like the Magi and Pontius Pilate. How can the Cross, which opposes all megalothymic desires, be associated with a specific group? Herein lies a nuanced understanding. The fact that the cross opposes megalothymic desires doesn’t diminish people’s identities nor seeks to erase them. Christ, from birth to death, identified as a Jew. Embracing an identity—be it ethnic, racial, or national—doesn’t undermine the work of the cross. Christianity should never be a tool to promote political expansionist ideologies. The inscription “Jesus the Nazarene, King of the Jews” signifies that in identifying with the crucified Messiah, we needn’t forsake our place of origin or ethnic heritage. Just as Christ hailed from Nazareth, we all have our homelands. As Christ was a Jew, we all identify with certain ethnic, racial, or national identities.

Thirdly, the crucifix reminds me that Christ was crucified because He was a Jew. He was crucified as a Jew, not only because He was a Jew but also because He was perceived largely as a Jewish liberator. Even though He clarified to Pilate that His kingdom was not of this world (John 18), the Romans insisted He was on a mission to liberate Judea. He was seen as another Zealot. To add fuel to the fire, the Pharisees and Sanhedrin alleged, “He said he would destroy the Temple.” This implied that He was not only a revolutionary but also a reformer, rejecting Herod’s first-century BC renovation and the Roman rule. He was a Jew. They crucified Him. A man from a nation of barely a hundred thousand was crucified by agents of an oppressive empire. He died to save humanity as a very human being from an inconspicuous tribe. Christ’s identification with minorities speaks volumes in this megalothymic world. Minorities are targeted globally. The Amharas as minorities in Oromia and the Kemise Oromos as minorities in Northern Shewa and Wollo face persecution from their communities. Tigrayans, as a tiny group, encounter hostility across the Horn of Africa. Attacking minorities, whose identities are perceived as threats by larger communities, typifies megalothymic societies. Here we witness the Messiah identifying with the minority. I wish this were not the reality. I wish the majority-minority labeling were as artificial as it seems. However, it’s real. It exists. In my dormitory, I have a friend from Konso who recounts what it means to be a minority in Ethiopia. Whenever I see the Cross, I envision Konso within the broader Ethiopia or the migrant Amharas navigating the battlegrounds of Western Oromia or elsewhere in the country. Christ identified with the minority.

Fourthly, the crucifix portrays a Christ who was forsaken by God. God abandoned Christ at the cross. What does it mean to be forsaken by God? It signifies God’s silence and unresponsiveness to Christ’s suffering. I won’t delve into extensive theology here. The Father’s relationship with Christ at that moment was one of non-responsiveness to His Son’s anguish. “Where are you, God?” echoes from all corners of the world today. This query stems from diverse reasons, be it moral evils or natural calamities like Covid-19 and cancer. Amidst all the pleas to God, “Where are you, God?” resonates, I believe, the most. The crucifix is where God identified with those forsaken by God. I don’t aim to offer utopian hope because it’s unrealistic. However, the crucifixion echoes the cries of my countrymen and women. “Where are you, God?”

Fifthly, the crucifix was erected outside Jerusalem, prompting us to ponder why the crucifixion didn’t occur within the city. Christ was taken outside because Jerusalem was a sacred city, and the Jewish leaders wished to cleanse it of impurities. Hence, Christ was led outside of Jerusalem. “The king of the Jews” was removed from the city of David. They sought to rid the city of the impurities Christ represented. In today’s megalothymic world, people are displaced and compelled to depart from their birth cities for myriad reasons. Ethiopia has witnessed a surge in internally displaced persons (IDPs) over the last four years. The cross embodies a displaced Messiah. Christ was removed from His birthplace (Jerusalem) and cast out. Through this, He identified with the persecuted and migrants. Tigrayans, Amharas, Oromos—many face displacement within and beyond the country’s borders. The number of displaced individuals grows by the day. At this moment, the cross offers the meaning and solace we all seek. Even the Son of God was displaced and exiled from His town. This transpired due to megalothymic desires among ethnic, racial, and religious groups.

Yet, one might ask, does the entire significance of the cross boil down to Christ’s identification with sinners and the suffering? Does the crucifix propose solutions to the mounting nationalism, armed conflicts, ethnic tensions, and conspiracies? Indeed, understanding Jesus as a pacifist leader is valid. The crucifix advocates peace to those who wield swords. Could the sermon on peace alone bring about the desired tranquility? I firmly believe it can.

The distinction between the peace offered by the cross and our political understanding of peace is that the peace offered by the crucifix is one of the mind. Before Christ instructed Peter to sheathe his sword, He had advised Peter and the disciples to pray, but they faltered physically. While Christ prayed, mental torment engulfed Him. God sent an angel to comfort Christ. It was a moment where peace of mind was extended to Christ, intending to offer the same to the disciples, albeit they were physically feeble. Yet, He prayed for them.

Peter and the disciples’ mental states were unsettled. They thought they could make Christ “the king of Jews” only by wielding swords and attacking the invading Romans. That’s what unstable minds conceive. Essentially, this is what a megalothymic adamite personality offers its constituents. Christ’s retort, “Put away your sword,” was startling to the disciples. They knew no other “better” way to fulfill their desires. Christ, however, chose the most peaceful path: surrender. Why? Because He was composed and in harmony with His calling and identity.

Returning to the cross, at that moment, the Son of God did nothing. He was perceived as weak, powerless, and incapable. How can anyone maintain such composure in the face of evil and injustice? Only when they possess inner harmony. This peaceful state doesn’t seek validation from others. Confronted with rejection, Christ stands as the epitome of serenity. He was composed enough to address objections and questions directed at Him. To some, He responded in silence, to others, He engaged in discourse. However, His tranquility was so profound that even Pilate marveled at His composure.

What else does the Horn of Africa require? Peace! How can this peace materialize if we all cling to our megalothymic desires, unwilling to accept that we are intrinsically the same: sinners? If we don’t relinquish our megalothymic cravings for genuine peace, if we don’t replace arguments with the silence echoed at the cross, if we fail to respect each other’s identities, however diverse, if our elites and politicians don’t lay down their swords and open themselves to dialogue, how can peace prevail in the Horn of Africa?

Since October 2016, I’ve engaged in contemplation, debates, and, admittedly, made mistakes primarily about constructing an apt and timely political theology. I’ve always aspired to be sufficiently equipped to comment on specific political issues. I never felt adequately qualified. Whenever I attempt to contemplate “politically,” I’m confronted with a cross. I cannot debate or argue with a cross because I was saved by THE cross.

In conclusion, beyond Christ’s mission to save humanity, His identification with us in areas where we claim expertise is what consistently captivates me. Beyond the 2016 Irreechaa Massacre, beyond the countless deaths across the country, beyond the global pandemic and moral failures, the crucifix stands—a place where the Son of God assumed human form, surrendering to the will of sinful human beings to identify with me, the sinful, megalothymic, flawed individual. There, He exchanged all “My” with His.

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