In these 25 years of journey, I was not alone
In the Cathedral of Our Lady of Perpetual Help in Asmara, a community gathered not merely to honor a man but to trace the long arc of a church's life through one shepherd's twenty-five years of service. Archbishop Menghisteab Tesfamariam, ordained bishop in 2001 by Pope John Paul II, marked his Silver Jubilee on June 27, 2026, surrounded by fellow bishops, priests, and the faithful of Eritrea's Ge'ez Rite Catholic Church — a tradition nearly a century old. What the occasion revealed was less a celebration of personal achievement than a meditation on continuity: how institutions endure through succession, how leaders are shaped by those before them, and how the wisest among them are already praying for those who will come after.
- A quarter-century of episcopal leadership in one of Africa's smaller but historically rich Catholic communities reached its public reckoning in a solemn jubilee Mass attended by three bishops, fifty-five co-celebrating priests, and the faithful of an entire arch eparchy.
- The weight of the occasion was not triumph but honest reckoning — Tesfamariam acknowledged years marked by difficulty, defeat, and the sometimes humbling counsel of those around him.
- The Ge'ez Rite Catholic Church in Eritrea, founded in 1930 and now anchored by four episcopal seats, used the jubilee as a moment to see itself whole — its past bishops named aloud like a genealogy, its expansion across Barentu, Keren, and Segeneiti made visible.
- Rather than claiming the day as his own, the Archbishop turned attention forward, announcing that he already prays each morning for the bishop who will one day succeed him — a gesture that reframed celebration as stewardship.
- The arc of one man's life — from a village called Berakit Abay to seminaries, missionary work in Uganda, graduate study in the United States, and finally the cathedral where he was first ordained a priest in 1979 — offered the congregation a mirror of what faithful persistence looks like across decades.
On June 27, 2026, the Cathedral of Our Lady of Perpetual Help in Asmara became the gathering point for a community marking twenty-five years of episcopal leadership. Archbishop Menghisteab Tesfamariam celebrated his Silver Jubilee alongside three fellow bishops, fifty-five co-celebrant priests, and the faithful of Eritrea's Catholic Arch Eparchy — a moment of collective gratitude shaped as much by history as by the man at its center.
Tesfamariam's path to the altar had been long and winding. Born in December 1948 in the village of Berakit Abay, he entered seminary at fifteen and spent decades in formation and ministry — teaching in the remote Karamoja region of Uganda for six years, studying pastoral theology in the United States, and serving Catholic communities in Chicago and San Francisco. He was ordained a priest in 1979 in the very cathedral where he would later mark this jubilee. When Pope John Paul II named him bishop in 2001, he returned to lead the Arch Eparchy of Asmara, becoming the sixth in a line of successors stretching back to the church's founding in 1930.
In his homily, Tesfamariam drew from the Psalms to frame what twenty-five years had taught him. Beginning with the image of brothers dwelling together in unity, he moved toward a question any long-serving leader might ask: had the Lord truly been with him? His answer was gratitude — plainly stated, hard-won. He did not avoid the difficulty of the years, acknowledging that he had been accompanied, challenged, and at times defeated by the counsel of those around him. 'In these 25 years of journey, I was not alone,' he told the congregation.
What lingered most was his orientation toward the future. Already, he said, he prays each morning for the bishop who will one day succeed him — a quiet act of humility that reframed the entire celebration. The jubilee was not a conclusion but a point along a longer line, one that Father Thomas Negash, the Catholic Secretariat's secretary general, traced aloud after Mass: from village origins to international formation to decades of pastoral leadership. The cathedral that day held a church community able to see itself whole — nearly a century behind it, and a future already being prayed for by the man who has guided it through the last quarter of that span.
On a Saturday in late June, the Cathedral of Our Lady of Perpetual Help in Asmara filled with the sound of voices raised together—bishops and priests, seminarians and the faithful, families and friends gathered to mark a quarter-century of one man's service to Eritrea's Catholic Church. Archbishop Menghisteab Tesfamariam stood at the altar on June 27, 2026, celebrating the twenty-five years since his ordination as a bishop, a milestone that brought three fellow bishops to concelebrate alongside fifty-five other priests and the weight of an entire religious community's gratitude.
The man at the center of the day was born in a village called Berakit Abay in December 1948, the son of a place that would shape everything that followed. At fifteen, he entered seminary in Dekemhare, beginning a path that would take him across continents—to Ethiopia for his novitiate, to Uganda where he taught and ministered in the remote region of Karamoja for six years, to the United States where he earned a master's degree in pastoral theology while caring for Catholics scattered across Chicago and San Francisco. He was ordained a priest in 1979 in the same cathedral where, decades later, he would mark this jubilee.
When Pope John Paul II named him bishop on June 25, 2001, Tesfamariam returned to his homeland to lead the Arch Eparchy of Asmara—the seat from which the entire Ge'ez Rite Catholic presence in Eritrea had grown since 1930. He became the sixth successor in that line, following five bishops whose names he recited during the jubilee Mass like a genealogy of faith: Kidanemariam Kassa, the first indigenous bishop; Yakob Ghebreyesus; Asratemariam Yemiru; Abraha Franswa; and Zekarias Yohannes. Under his tenure, the church had expanded further, birthing three new episcopal seats in Barentu, Keren, and Segeneiti.
In his homily that day, Tesfamariam spoke with the plainness of someone who had earned the right to simplicity. He began with Psalm 133—"How good and how pleasant it is when brothers dwell together as one"—and moved into reflection on his own quarter-century, asking the question that any leader might ask when looking back: "Had not the Lord been with us?" His answer came from another psalm: "How can I repay the Lord for all the great good done for me? I will raise the cup of salvation and call on the name of the Lord." What he felt, he told the congregation, was heartfelt gratitude.
But he did not shy from the weight of the years. The journey, he said, had not been without difficulty. He had been accompanied, strengthened, challenged, and at times defeated by the counsel of those around him—bishops and priests, religious communities, the young and the old, families in Eritrea and scattered across the diaspora. "In these 25 years of journey, I was not alone," he said, a statement that seemed to acknowledge both the burden and the grace of shared responsibility.
What struck many in the cathedral that day was his humility about what comes next. Already, he said, he was praying for the bishop who would one day succeed him. "Trusting in God, we did what we can, and the rest will be completed by those who succeed me." He offered prayers for those who had gone before him and for wisdom for those who would follow. He spoke too of two missionary saints—Justin De Jacobi and Daniel Comboni—whose intercession he sought each morning, whose example had shaped his pastoral work.
After the Mass, Father Thomas Negash, the secretary general of the Catholic Secretariat, offered a brief account of the Archbishop's life and ministry—the arc from village catechist to international student to missionary to bishop, the thread of service that had run through it all. The cathedral that day held not just a celebration but a kind of continuity, a moment when a church community could see itself whole, stretching back ninety-six years to its founding and forward into a future already being prayed for by the man who has guided it for the last quarter-century.
Notable Quotes
What I feel today is heartfelt gratitude— Archbishop Tesfamariam, in his jubilee homily
Trusting in God, we did what we can, and the rest will be completed by those who succeed me— Archbishop Tesfamariam, reflecting on succession
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
What strikes you most about a bishop marking twenty-five years in one place, in a country as small and complex as Eritrea?
That he's still there. The diaspora matters—he served in Uganda, America, Ethiopia—but he came home. That's not automatic for anyone with his education and opportunity.
The homily kept returning to the idea of not being alone. Why do you think that mattered so much to say?
Because leadership in a place like that is isolating. You're the face of an institution, the one who makes the hard calls. Saying "I was not alone" is him naming that the weight was shared, that he didn't carry it by himself. That's not weakness—that's honesty.
He's already praying for his successor. That's unusual, isn't it?
It suggests he's thought about what happens after him, that he's not clinging to the role. There's a kind of peace in that—or maybe it's the only way he knows how to let go.
The church itself has grown under him. Three new dioceses. Does that feel like success?
It's growth, but it's also fragmentation in a way. The original seat in Asmara spawned three others. That's expansion, but it also means the center is no longer the whole. He seems to understand that as natural, even necessary.
What about the saints he mentions—De Jacobi and Comboni? Why those two?
Both were missionaries who worked in Africa, who understood what it meant to build a church from the ground up in a place that wasn't naturally Catholic. He's invoking their example as permission to do the same work he's doing.