processional routes in labilela

William Dimond

Nothing can prepare you for entering the western cluster of rock churches at Lalibela. You have most likely already made a long journey North from central more accessible parts of Ethiopia and are growing familiar with the northern landscape, its sparsely vegetated wildernesses interspersed with pockets of lushness. You already know about the vast eroded mountain ranges after the long day's drive from Lake Tana and the source of the Nile to Wollo province up the gradually ascending plateau which finally falls away in narrow terraces at Meket to the plain below. From this point, if you had known where to look, Lalibela was just visible on the fringes of the next massif, the land between, a rugged valley broken with rivers that would have been impossible to ford in a few-months time. Entering Lalibela you have again climbed to 8500 feet. Two-storeyed circular huts are grouped on dusty red ground between sparse olive groves. There is already a hint of the low-rounded outcrops of rust-coloured andesitic tufa whiich contain these churches.

What appears to be a small depression in the rock soon becomes a deepening gorge and it quickly becomes apparent that, whilst the path descended only gradually, the rock walls have risen sharply on both sides. You are already innside the intricate series of interconnecting passages, courtyards and tunnels which are the infrastructure for a complex of rock-hewn churches, some strictly monolithic and others in every conceivable degree of separation from monolith to cave from the mother rock. The bustle of town has faded away completely. White-robed priests with obligatory umbrella and lions-mane move slowly between churches, monks and hermits watch from rough holes hewn out of the courtyard walls while mouthing chants in Ge'ez.

Entering churches, you marvel at the sensation of being inside the living rock ; at the timeless quality that this imparts ; at the unbelievably fine crafting of the surfaces ; at the way the feeble light penetrating from above throws into relief each incision of the mason's chisel ; at the undecorated sheer surface which glows with rich worked texture.

Inside monolithic space the attention is drawn to every detail questioning its intention, not contingent on a process of construction but of subtractive unlayering, its creators more archaeologist than builder. In the largest church, Bet Medhane Alem, the junction between square columns and floor is given a slight radius, furthering the illusion that the columns grow out of the ground, confirming what you already know. The column heads, though, are articulated capitals carrying roof-supporting arches, edges still sharply defined after eight centuries of use. Later in the eastern cluster you will see Bet Emanuel where the monolith is intricately carved into discrete dressed blocks. Were the sculptors ashamed of working from solid that they adopted the forms of traditional block construction ?

The presence of the priest is all-powerful. Each resident dignitary, proudly dressed in his finery disappears into the holy-of holies to re-emerge bearing the treasures of the house, maybe a bronze cross threaded with fine cloth or a carved wooden stave. Many of these are said to be original to the buildings. You can read something of the motivation behind the excavation of the churches in the staggering quality of these artefacts and in the eyes of these living bearers of Orthodox tradition. The priest points emphatically at the collection bowl.

Yet it is in none of these things that the unique quality of Lalibela resides. They arre only facets of a cultural tradition that has hardly changed since before these churches were made probably early in the thirteenth century. The genius of the place lies in the precise configuration of the space in and around the churches and how this both accommodates the ritual culture of its occupants and is accommodated by the peculiarity of the site. In the labyrinth there is continual awareness of the width of the passage, the slope of the walls, the closing in of a ceiling, the step of a thresholddd, the unexpected arrival in a courtyard where the distances between the monolithic church and the rough-hewn walls of the surrounding rock dictate. You imagine the large courtyard in which stands Bet Maryam crowded with pilgrims on holy days awaiting their turn to enter the church and ponder the mysterious central column on which are written the past and future of the world (though this is kept forever wrapped in cloths). On leaving the courtyard a long-distance glimpse is offered of the plains beyond through a slot in the rock wall. The path then plunges through a descending tunnel, and into a finely cut trench from where a bridge which enters the double church Bet Mikael/Bet Goigota is visible. To arrive at the entrance, however, the route follows around the blind East end of the church and returns back on itself along the narrow tiered plinth on which the church sits. This elaborate narrow approach is reserved for Lalibela's most holy place ; a rarely visited chapel in Bet Golgota is said to contain the tomb of King Lalibela, creator of these churches.

Leaving the western cluster churches the rock walls fall away to more open ground, though you still walk on rock underfoot. As you follow the fall of the land with views of the valley beyond and turn the brow you come upon the most remarkable of Lalibela's churches. Bet Giorgis, although hidden away on its own, has the most striking relationship with its site and the most engaging of approaches. Walking across the sloping rock hillside you approach the roughly rectangular pit 23-metre long by 19-metre wide by 12-metre deep, sheer on all sides. The roof of the cruciform church is level with the hillside and also sloping, the grooves between the concentric crosses incised into the roof acting as rainwater channnnnels connecting to gargoyles at three sides. You are aware of a slot in the rock beyond the pit and a smaller rectangular cut-out a few metres to the West. The first is a gradually curving ramp which brings you to the lower level. You enter through a tunnel to an antechamber, lit from above by the second opening, from which a right turn through a doorway brings you to the church courtyard. The door to the courtyard is a single slab of ancient olive wood five inches thick, frameless, with a timber hinge and latch. The walls of the courtyard are lined with open cells, some still home to decayed corpses, others containing rough beds for monks. In the floor of the courtyard is a baptismal cistern with algae and reeds, fed by a rainwater channel cut diagonally across one wall of the courtyard. The church grows out of a stepped platform. Seven steps each of gradually increasing height rise to the main entrance. The interior is a single cruciform volume without columns. Externally the three-storey volume is expressed with projecting string-courses.

Standing on the rim of the trench you are inclined to ponder on the process of excavation. The Lalibela churches have upper windows with bare openings devoid of tracery or infill, possibly for use for spoil removal, whereeas lower windows are usually blind openings. It has been suggested that the trench was excavated to reveal the main block of the church and that work proceeded downwards both inside and out leaving finished carved surfaces and thereby avoiding the use of scaffolding. The perfection of the finished surfaces and the lack of holes for temporary works support this theory. But such a programme required the vision of the architect to be comprehensive and the design to be largely preconfigured. Rock is an unforgiving medium. There can have been little margin for human error or for faults in the rock. The warren of interstitial spaces had not only to act as promenade but also facilitate the excavation process and act as conduit for rainwater removal.

Like the westeern cluster it is the connecting space that is the life-blood of the organism of Bet Giorgis. For such master excavators it must have seemed a relatively easy task to remove the ground around the finished structure. They chose not to do this. The monument is embedded firmly in its trench. The cruciform church interior resonates to the outside against the containing walls of the mountain. The mountain is the card up King Lalibela's sleeve that gives him total control over the approach and entry sequence. Whhhilst the entire layout is open to view on arrival the worshipper must turn his back on his destination and follow a conscious and focused route into the mountain, emerging on the open stage of the courtyard before gaining the intimacy of the inner sanctum. The demonstrative and collective nature of the procession ritual and the more personal requirements of religious communion find here their ultimate synthesis.

William Dimond is an architect and associate in O'Donnell and Tuomey Architects.