Ethiopia, Erta Ale: A Journey Through the Names of God and the Living Earth

I have traveled thousands and thousands and thousands of miles across this continent that we-myself included-call Africa. But even that is just a name, a label stemming from words once used by the Phoenicians, Greeks, and Romans. It’s just a name given to something we felt needed naming. And it stuck. But this isn’t always the case, as I’ve seen so many names for God along the way, and they never seem to stick. Oh, so many names, each one taking care of me within its diplomatic borders. Yet, it is here in Ethiopia, at Erta Ale, where after I looked into the very earth itself, I felt a transcendence that might just be the closest I’ve come to understanding the truth of it all.

I don’t believe in God-not in the Judeo-Christian way I was given at birth-but I do fully acknowledge that there is a creator. I don’t care for His name, but I saw it here.

First, there was Unkulunkulu, the Great Spirit revered by the Zulu people. Then came Mwali-or was it Mwari?-a deity known to the Shona of Zimbabwe. But soon, I became aware of Nyambe, the god of the Lozi in Zambia, and Leda, whose presence whispered through ancient stories. Before I knew it, Chiuta, the rain god of the Tumbuka in Malawi, was introduced to me. It was here, amidst these spiritual journeys, that I stepped into a church for the first time, to see what they-and we, who are westernized-would call Jehovah. Yet, it was Musikavanhu, the Great Spirit of the Shona, who then became known to me as the supreme creator.

As I ventured further north, I found Engai across the vast plains of Kenya. Climbing higher into the mountains toward the Great Lakes of Africa, I sensed Katonda in the rain clouds above. But when I witnessed firsthand the blood-stained clothes piled high in the churches of Rwanda, it was The Lord who seemed to hold dominion over all creation here. A somber reminder of power and suffering intertwined in the very ideas I was given by default at birth.

Within a few hours of leaving Rwanda, I encountered Allah, the All-Knowing Creator, whose presence felt vast and encompassing. Then, in Ethiopia, as I crossed the border, Allah’s dominance was instantly overshadowed by a man born unto the name of Jesus Christ. But this is no ordinary man, for the Ethiopians believe this man is not two natures but one incarnate nature of God. Now, standing near the Eritrean border, I don’t know who crafted these landscapes, but like Moses glimpsing the burning bush, I saw it-a world carved by a force beyond comprehension or reason.

Here, for the very first time, the earth opened up a door to me. A portal to a truth. The Truth. I realized that the earth is not just a giver of life-it is alive itself. I saw it in the molten lava churning below my feet, I felt it in the heat radiating up from the core, and I feel it still within me as I type these words. This place, that moment-it showed me that while I may not believe in any one god, I believe in the living, breathing earth beneath my feet.