There had been tragedies for us prior to that time.  But the Genocide of 1915 has come to embody the suffering of our people like no other event in our history.  Indeed, it stands with a very small host of other inhuman episodes, as an embodiment of the affliction of mortal man in general.

It’s fitting therefore that Armenians should mark April 24 by gathering in our sanctuaries—beneath the cross of Christ.  For the cross illuminates the meaning of the Genocide.  On the one hand, it is the universal symbol of human suffering—a reminder that the Son of God was placed on a cross to die.

But the cross is not simply a symbol of suffering.  Christ did die on the cross.  But more: he is risen.  And so the cross must be understood in light of the resurrection of Christ: as a symbol of suffering, surely; but also as a sign of victory over suffering—a victory promised by God to His true and faithful servants.

In this way, too, the cross represents the Armenian martyrs of 1915.  Not because our martyrs themselves were resurrected—they remain dead, and we pray for the peace of their souls.  But we must remember that our persecutors contem­plated the destruction of a whole nation, and they came close to succeeding.  Our memorials to the Genocide are one way of remembering that every Armenian living in the world today has passed very close to death, through the experience of a parent or grandparent; through the larger experience of our people.

And yet, having passed so close to death, we did not die.  Indeed, in the years following the Genocide, the surviving Armenians rebuilt their lives, raised families, created worthwhile institutions, contributed to a truly great society like the United States—all the while preserving something of our distinctive Armenian Christian identity.  The cross, which depicts the miracle of Christ’s Resurrection, reminds us that our very lives are founded on a miracle: the miraculous blossoming of life out of destruction.  And that miracle has a name: Hope.

The same hope is the vital nerve of our civilization, the secret of our survival.  How often have our people walked through the valley of death?  And how could we have endured, how could we have overcome adversity, were it not for this precious gift of hope?

This is the message of hope we need to draw strength from today, as we face our own trials.  It hardly needs saying that our world of today is filled with such trials.  As Armenians, as Americans, as Christians, as individual men and women, we all sense the urgency of the present moment—the fragile quality of the life we have built for ourselves and for our society.

These are causes for concern, for prayer, for reflection.  But not for despair.  For in truth, we are not strangers to the valley of death.  Through Christ, we have been there before.  For our sake, he experienced its terrors, accepted its wounds—and emerged victorious.  Because of this, our ancestors did not lose hope 97 years ago.  They knew that Jesus Christ would always be beside them—as he is always beside us now—giving us hope for our lives.

It is the greatest hope ever offered to mankind.

Your Footsteps will lead me To a path yet unknown And wherever You are Lord, I will Follow

To the highest of mountains And to the deepest of seas By my side, You will hold me

In my greatest of joys And saddest of sorrows By my side, You will comfort me

In struggles taken step by step And pains felt tear by tear By my side, You will wipe them dry for me

My actions: good, right and just And deeds: dreadful and wicked By my side, You will forgive me

My faith in You strong, fervent and unshaken And doubts: subtle, confusing and fierce By my side, You will reassure me

My prayers from the heart exclaimed to You Forgetful, pre-occupied and lazy, thankfulness remised By my side, You will always hear me

My weakness, illness and limitations, crosses indeed to bear Day by Day, Your path I take, should I dare By my side, You will guide me

My disappointments and discouragements daily they present Alone, weary and frail, my body weighed down By my side, You will uplift me

My goals and plans though they fall short Your will and way I try to emmulate By my side, You will shape me

My family: wife and children you have gifted Filled with joys and trials By my side, You will bless me

My life full of breath, energy and zeal And death: dark, empty and cold By my side, You will resurrect me

Your Footsteps will lead me To a path yet unknown And wherever You are Lord, I will Follow

—by the Rev. Fr. Stepanos Doudoukjian

The great hymn of “Turun-Patzek” is “Zoghormootyan ko uztoorun.” Here are the beautiful, inspiring words of that hymn:

“Open to us, O Lord, the door of your mercy, and make us worthy of your dwellings of light, together with your saints. Receive us also, O Savior, into your mansions prepared for your saints, and inscribe our names in the Book of Life. O great judge, when you sit in the judgment seat, spare your creatures through the prayers of the holy saints.”

These are the words we sing as a church, before literally crossing the threshold into Holy Week. We stand at the doorway having experienced Great Lent, during which we have prepared ourselves—body, mind, and soul—to experience the events of this week alongside our Lord: his triumphant entry, his passion, his death, and finally—miraculously—his glorious resurrection.

We recall that the original Palm Sunday was an international event: Jerusalem was filled with worshippers from around the world, who had descended on the city to observe the Jewish feast of Passover. So when Jesus made his entry into the holy city, he was literally doing so on a world stage—anticipating the words he would give to his apostles just before his Ascension:

“Go therefore and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit: teaching them to observe whatever I have commanded you” (Mt 28:19).

In this sense, Christ’s ministry to all mankind—to all nations—reached a critical moment on Palm Sunday. Previously he had never ventured more than a couple of hundred miles from the place of his birth. But now, our Lord was publically making it known that his message was to be heard throughout the world. And all of the dramatic, world-changing events of Holy Week are part and parcel of that message.

But the Armenian Turun-Patzek hymn reminds us that Christ’s message was directed beyond even the limits of the physical world. For the true gates that he opened that week were the gates to the Kingdom of Heaven.

“Open the door of your mercy, Lord, and make us worthy of your dwellings of light…,” we sing. “Receive us into the mansions prepared for your saints, and write our names in the Book of Life…”

That is the eternal kingdom which Christ opened to us. Indeed, Christ himself is the doorway to that kingdom, as he teaches us in the gospel:

“I am the door,” he said: “if any man enters in by me, he shall be saved” (Jn 10:9).

It is through his sacrifice and victory over death that Christ has cleared the way for us to obtain salvation, so that we, too, might join him in God’s kingdom.

Finally, there is one other set of doors that Christ is knocking on. They are the doors of the human heart. In our badarak, we recite the Psalm that commands:

“Lift up your head, O you gates; and be lifted up, you everlasting doors; and the King of Glory shall come in” (Psalm 24:7).

This should remind us that the King of Glory—in Armenian, “Takavor Parats”—is always knocking on the doors of our hearts, making himself known to us, urging us to let him enter. He will not force himself on us—Christ honors our free will, and leaves the choice to us whether to open up to him or close the door.

But he will never stop knocking. Some people can turn away and ignore him. Others can lose the sound of Christ’s knocking in the noisy culture around us. But for us, as Armenians and Christians, our celebration of the badarak each week, and especially of Palm Sunday and the Easter cycle, is our eternal reminder that Christ stands at the door, ready to enter—in triumph—and establish his kingship in our hearts.

When he enters our hearts, Christ may move quietly and humbly—as he did when he entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday. But he is unstoppable. He is determined to work in us and through us—if we let him do so. He offers himself universally, to all the people of the world, to any¬one who will accept his authority. He leads us into the Kingdom of Heaven.

Thus, Palm Sunday is the story not only of God’s presence among us, but more importantly, it is the story of His loving outreach to us. May that thought guide us through the coming week, and open our hearts to Christ’s call.

Christ's entry into Jerusalem (14th-century manuscript by Tserun Tsaghkogh).

We are told in the Bible that the followers of Jesus were also struggling with this question. The answer that Jesus gave is probably the best summary of Christian love that has ever been uttered: the Parable of the Prodigal Son.

This gospel passage (Luke 15:11-32) should be familiar to everyone—it provides the reading for the second Sunday of the current season of Lent—but let us try to see it with new eyes.

Bowing to the request of his younger offspring, a man divides his property between his two sons. The younger son takes his share and leaves home, but quickly squanders his wealth. Destitute and disgraced, and feeling unworthy of his father, the boy swallows what little pride he has left and returns to his father’s house, where he expects a cool reception. To his surprise, the father welcomes him with embraces and kisses, ordering the servants to make preparations for a great celebration: “My son was dead, and is alive again,” the father announces; “he was lost, and is found.”

Jesus could have ended the parable here—with the “happy ending” of a father celebrating the return of his lost son—and had a simple story expressing God’s undying forgiveness for man, and His joy when a sinner repents.  But Jesus did not stop there: he switches the scene to the field where the older son is working—and has been working diligently his entire life. The older boy is outraged when he learns of his father’s behavior, and corners his father to complain bitterly of the injustice of it.

From a public celebration, we are pulled into a private family argument, and it is as if reality suddenly bursts into the story. In the real world, grand public displays of forgiveness are easy to make; but in private—in the family, so to speak—resentments still linger. The older son’s anger has the ring of truth: he has worked hard to do the right thing, taken responsibility for his life. He has earned his father’s love.  One might ask whether a father who throws away his affection on an undeserving child is so very different from a prodigal son who squanders his inheritance.

Part of what makes this such a touching parable is the way the details seem drawn from real life. Jesus shows himself not as a teller of moral fables, but as an acute observer of human behavior and the human heart. An upright son who demands fair play and just deserts; the uneasy feelings of competition which brothers harbor for a parent’s approval and love—these are all too human, and all too recognizable even to us. The father’s response to his eldest son is the same: having already lost one son, he does not want to lose the other; yet he can offer no counter-argument, nor appeal to any greater standard of justice.

The best he can do is to repeat what he said to the onlookers when his wayward son first returned.  But this time, in this quiet, private setting, the same words have a different feeling: not a joyful announcement to the world, but a father’s plea for understanding from his son: “Your brother was dead, but now he is alive again.” What person who has ever lost a family member—to whatever circumstance—can hear those words and not be moved? The love of a parent for a child is very strong; but to lose that child, and then to get him back again—this must bring forth the most powerful love of all.

This is what God’s love for us is like. This is what it means for us to be able to call Him “Father.” With regard to God, we are all like children who want to be close to our parents: we wonder which child they love best, and worry that we may become unworthy of their love. These are not small concerns, but in our child-like way, we miss the point about our father’s love, which is not necessarily the same for all, but which is so deep that it makes no sense to set up a ranking of least to most favored. It is a love whose depth cannot be measured, and which sometimes is not even fully recognized until it confronts the prospect of loss.

It is a powerful lesson, and a fine example of the kind of teaching that made Jesus famous during his mission to the world.  He offers not a fairy tale where actions have no consequences and love conquers all, but rather a full portrait of what real love requires, and of the obstacles such love presents to real people.

—Christopher Hagop Zakian

"The return of the Prodigal Son" by Rembrandt

Hagop Nersoyan’s “The Story of Sts. Vartanants” is brought to life on your iPad with interactive features, including:

• Photo galleries: browse historic maps of Armenia and more
• Video: watch young people reflect on what the Battle of Avarayr means to them
• Audio: listen to St. Vartan and St. Ghevont’s stirring speeches in English and Armenian
• Animated Map: explore the key sites of 4th and 5th century Armenia
• Glossary: look up terms as your read
• Notetaking: highlight your favorite passages and return to them later

From the makers of Vemkar, this compelling digital book invites readers to revisit St. Vartan’s stand against the Persian army in defense of Armenia’s existence as a Christian nation. Download it, and begin your adventure today.

But the appearance of the Armenian alphabet in a printed book predates this milestone by 26 years. This credit goes to a German travelogue on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, printed on June 21, 1486. Now, thanks to the digitization efforts of the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek in Munich, Germany, the 526-year-old alphabet, along with its original transliteration, can be viewed online here.

There is, however, an important distinction to be made between the alphabet and Meghapart’s work: the Armenian alphabet in the German book (unlike the printed book itself) was realized through an engraved woodcut block, not the printing press of Meghapart’s “Urbatagirk.” In other words, Meghapart remains the pioneer of Armenian printing—an effort that paved the way for the mass-production of myriad Armenian books.

Still the German travelogue, known by its Latin name “Peregrinatio in terram sanctam,” deserves mention in this 500th anniversary year of Armenian printing, and we are grateful to Dr. Levon Avdoyan, the Armenian collection specialist at the Library of Congress, for pointing out the digital version.

“Peregrinatio in terram sanctam” was authored by Bernard von Breydenbach, the dean of the cathedral of Mainz, which, as it happens, is also the birthplace of Gutenberg, and illustrated by the Dutch artist Erhard Reuwich. The volume describes the pilgrims’ journey from Germany to Jerusalem between April 1483 and January 1484, and makes note of the different peoples—Greeks, Jews, Syrians, Ethiopians, and Armenians, among others—they encountered on their travels.

Of the 12 editions of the “Peregrinatio” printed between 1486 and 1522, only two contain the Armenian alphabet—a testament to both the fallibility of woodcut printing and the revolutionary nature of the Gutenberg printing press. The Rev. Fr. Vrej Nersessian, the former curator-in-charge of the Christian Middle East department at the British Library and a leading scholar on Christianity in the Middle East, offers a detailed comparison of the various editions of “Peregrinatio” in a 1991 article in the Journal of the Society for Armenian Studies. Fr. Nersessian was also the first to translate Breydenbach’s description of the Armenians into English.

“…These Armenians are in sufficient number in Jerusalem to have their Bishop,” Breydenbach wrote. “[They] have a large and impressive Church of St. James which is situated in the place where the Apostle was beheaded and martyred.” The favorable observations quickly turn critical as Breydenbach identifies the “errors” of the Armenians, enumerating the ways in which their religious customs differ from those of the Roman Catholic Church.

His last line reads: “The Armenians have a language of their own which has as much in common with ours as the Divine Liturgy which they practice.” It is followed by the curious woodblock alphabet.

That Armenian history stretched far into the past was not lost on Breydenbach. But perhaps even he could not have guessed that at the dawn of modernity, this very alphabet, set to movable type by Meghapart, would help cement a national identity from Venice to Jerusalem to Etchmiadzin, and beyond.

The Armenian alphabet in the 1486 German travelogue "Peregrinatio in terram sanctam." As the Rev. Fr. Vrej Nersessian notes, the alphabet is missing the letter "o."

]]> http://www.armenianchurch-ed.net/wpblog/2012/01/armenian-printing-the-prelude/feed/ 0 http://www.armenianchurch-ed.net/wpblog/2012/01/faith-through-song/ http://www.armenianchurch-ed.net/wpblog/2012/01/faith-through-song/#comments Tue, 17 Jan 2012 22:15:11 +0000 admin http://www.armenianchurch-ed.net/wpblog/?p=519 Monday was Martin Luther King, Jr. Day in the United States—a day off from work for many of our fellow citizens, but also a day for serious thought and reflection. Editorials on this day typically (and justifiably) focus on King’s political legacy. But often overlooked is how his mission was a consequence of his ministry—grounded in a religious vision of human dignity and family-like solidarity, under the fatherhood of a watchful God. Reverend King’s splendid oratory had its rhetorical roots in the cadences of the King James Bible: in the prophetic poetry of Isaiah and Micah, and certainly in the Gospel utterances of Jesus.

It found another source in the vernacular of America—especially in its tradition of songs: from old-time Protestant hymns, to spirituals, to anthems of wholesome patriotism.

Armenians might find a special point of contact here, for our music likewise resonates in deeply religious ways. Through our sharagans, our people express, in a unified way, an entire system of belief; an experience of sorrow; but above all a sense of hope: a faith, really, in the ultimate beneficence of God.

Similar chords are struck in Reverend King’s famous “I Have a Dream” speech.  Its concluding words weave together the strands of religious redemption and national aspiration, using the common thread of song. The uplifting result is not so different from what churchmen of another time and place accomplished when they penned the sharagans of the Armenian Divine Liturgy. In the badarak, as in the following words of Reverend King, song creates a unity of distinct voices, lifting our hearts and our thoughts upward:

This will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with a new meaning, “My country, ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring.”

And if America is to be a great nation this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania!

Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado!

Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California!

But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia!

Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee!

Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when this happens, when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, “Free at last!  Free at last!  Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!”

Martin Luther King

In the creation story described in the book of Genesis, the Sabbath is identified as the day of rest. After creating earth and all living beings and creatures for six days, God rested on the seventh, naming it the Holy Sabbath – for Christians, Sunday. This passage not only reminds us that God is the creator of all of life, but asks us to be true people of God by resting in him on Sunday. Just as God rested for one day, we too should take the time to enter into a day of rest, rejuvenating our mind, body, and soul through prayer and worship.

Does your behavior on Sunday’s honor God?

Activity: Devote your Sunday to a day of rest. Your work and responsibilities during the week should be put on hold until the next day.

This past July, the world bore witness to an evil act of terror within the country of Norway. Setting off a bomb in government offices in the heart of Norway’s capital followed by a shooting spree at a summer camp on Utoya Island, a 23 year-old man ended the lives of almost 90 young men and women. This self-described “Christian” justified his murders by claiming he was ridding Europe of non-Christians. He disgraced God and the entire fellowship of believers by giving himself that name. Hatred and murder could never find a place in a Christian heart.

This short but powerful verse from the Gospel of John declares God’s command for every human being to love others. Despite the many differences we may have, finding the compassion to love and understand one another is God’s first and most important rule. In fact, in many places in the Gospels, Jesus reminds us that all of faith in him can be summarized in this simple word. Love.

Are you living by God’s greatest command?

Activity: Think of how you treat others. Pray to God for forgiveness for any hatred you have felt towards anyone and ask for the strength to embrace others with love.

Since being in college, I have found it difficult to maintain my relationship with God. I am no longer home to attend church every Sunday and with all of the distractions college brings it is hard to stay connected with the Lord. This verse is a good reminder, however, that as long as I keep God’s teachings close to heart, I will not drift from him even if I cannot attend church.

In this very secularized world, it is easy for individuals to stray from the path God wants us to follow. However, if we think often of what we have learned and heard, we can override temptation and remain close to Him.

Is there something in your life that makes you more vulnerable to drifting from God?

Activity: The next time you feel yourself drifting from God, read attentively for 15 minutes from one of the Gospels and reflect on the reading.