Are we participants or stewards?

Most of us are born into this world seeking health, prosperity and happiness. Our identity is similar to a baseball team. We are all affiliated with a family or group of close friends, but our accomplishments are measured individually. A baseball player identifies with teammates but is judged by a batting average or runs produced (the new statistics notwithstanding). 

The one major exception to this analogy has to do with legacy—the lasting impact of our time on this earth. This is usually reflected through our children or personal and professional accomplishments. Some have referred to it as our “footprint,” which is unique and individualized. 

As we age, we may spend more private time thinking about our legacy. It is often described in terms of one’s ego and how they will be remembered, but this is not necessarily the majority. There is a more humble approach where one ponders the investments they have received in their lives from parents, siblings, education or friends, and contemplates what positive outcomes have been produced. What have we contributed as a result of these gifts? Each life on this earth is an opportunity to make this world a better place.

When we view our lives not in the context of personal gain but in terms of adding value for the greater good, we enter an entirely new dimension of life—one filled with service and sacrifice. It is within this abundance of commitment and selflessness that we find communities.

 Our communities were founded and exist today based on common needs. These may be language, culture, history, geography or all of the above. Throughout history, Armenians were at times referred to as a “nation,” even though modern conceptions of nation-state sovereignty had yet to exist, because of our indigenous presence in a common geography called the Armenian highlands. 

After the genocide and the rapid growth of the diaspora, the term “community” reflected our re-emergence in communal gatherings within each host nation. Armenians in the U.S. were identified by those locations where infrastructure was built, such as Philadelphia, New York or New Britain. Since the emergence of the independent Republic of Armenia, our hyphenated lives have taken on a more substantive meaning, as many have developed a relationship with the homeland while continuing to reside in communities in the U.S. with an Armenian base. 

We spend our lives contributing to this structure that fuels our identity while working to transfer this identity to our children. It is not a perfect process—limited by volunteerism, consensus and the temptation of assimilation—but it has functioned effectively enough to support what is now the fifth generation in the diaspora for some. Whether born here in the United States or emigrated from the Middle East, Iran or Baku, we often live in communities multiple generations removed from the homeland. It is particularly difficult for the foundation of the diaspora with roots in western Armenia, whose identity is under duress from generational loss.

We live in a technology-based society where history is defined as last week, and children are less aware of how they arrived at this juncture. Armenian Americans breathe the same air and are subject to the same lapses in life as others in the U.S. This increases the challenge of identity when the past is understated and the future requires a stronger bond.

The challenges of identity in the diaspora are not new. Threats to Armenian identity have come from warring nations or from the often quieter forces of assimilation and cultural erosion. But our history also reflects countless occasions when personal sacrifice and commitment made the difference for future generations. 

Those who sacrificed at the Battle of Avarayr in 451 did not live to see the fruits of their mission, but the impact of retaining faith and heritage ensured the continuity of Armenian identity for future generations. The long-term benefit of the first Republic of Armenia in 1918 was the territorial basis of an Armenian state, without which there would be no Armenia today. The creation of the alphabet by Mesrob Mashdots enabled the endurance of the Armenian language throughout the centuries, and has proven to be more impactful than any invading army. There were also moments of far less visibility that are probably not recorded in our history, where individuals in all walks of life looked only to the future with their devotion. 

What unites these major historical events and countless dedicated individuals is the concept of stewardship. For thousands of years, we have survived every imaginable calamity because we have been able stewards. A steward is defined as someone responsible for the management of something in their care. Simply stated, we are all caretakers of our heritage and faith. A steward understands that this responsibility is temporary and it must be passed on to the succeeding generation. 

As Christians, we understand that our time on Earth is finite; a portal toward eternity through Our Lord Jesus Christ. Each generation inherits something sacred that must be maintained and enhanced for the next generation. Our history can be viewed through the lens of thousands of generational stewards who receive, protect and transfer that responsibility to those who follow. If we consider that Armenians have inhabited the Armenian highlands for the last 4000 years, and a generation is roughly 30 years, then this generational transition has occurred over 133 times in war, peace, migration and genocide. With a majority of Armenians living in the diaspora, that stewardship continues in many geographies. 

Do we view our participation as stewards—or only live in the present? What is the difference? 

We have all encountered individuals in community life who participate without a view of the future. They are seemingly unaware of the ever-present hourglass of time slipping away. The present is all that matters and the results of community engagement lack vision and depth to support sustaining continuity. There are times when our egos can neutralize meaningful contributions and generational transfer, always looming in the shadows, is compromised.

In contrast, our communities have been blessed with individuals who always dedicate themselves to the mission and view themselves as another in the long line of caretakers. They participate without personal agendas and actively mentor others to assure our future. They invest in our identity without regard to personal benefit but only with concern for future generations.

The beneficiaries of their dedication may be those who follow them.

In today’s society, we hear a reference to “instant gratification,” where patience is scarce and results must be immediate. I often draw inspiration from the past to illustrate concepts such as sacrifice and commitment. Let us consider the behavior of our survivor generation in this country, who were the foundation of our post-genocide experience. We should consider three variables in the equation of community building—wealth, education and will. 

It is generally understood that, as emigrants who escaped genocide, they had very modest financial resources. Whatever they may have established was compromised further by the Great Depression during the infancy of their new life in America. Education was a luxury that few acquired. Their will to survive, however, and re-establish their Armenian identity was off the charts. 

Succeeding generations have demonstrated that wealth and education are important, but in the absence of will, the results will be modest. It is an important lesson for us to embrace, as our attention is diluted by endless material temptations. Our first generation cared only about establishing a presence that would benefit their children and future generations. As a group, it is one of the most selfless acts we have witnessed in the diaspora. They were true stewards, on par with others throughout our history. One day, the remarkable story of the regeneration of Armenian life in the diaspora will be written in the context of stewardship.

We should all be thankful for the thousands of dedicated people without whom our communities would cease to exist. It is not always popular to look for further improvements. Some of us are content with the status quo and see challenging ourselves as negative. If we let our egos lead, that is certainly a possible outcome, but it is also the cleanest path to improving our capabilities. Compassionately challenging ourselves is our most effective tool for sustaining identity. 

When we work in the kitchen baking for community events, we are dedicated servants. When we teach others, particularly the young generation, how to bake, we are advancing the stewardship scale. If you speak Armenian in your daily life, you are contributing to our culture. If you utilize your fluency to teach others, you are increasing our stewardship. Stewardship involves selfless acts that not only serve the present but also add to the assurance of our future.

I ask myself constantly, “Am I a participant or a steward in our community life?” 

Soon, fall will return, and our community activity level will increase with schools, bazaars and cultural programs. It is my prayer that we connect ourselves to our history by self-identifying as stewards of our civilization. During our lives, we receive the gift of our heritage and serve as value-added caretakers. As stewards, we are called to protect it, nurture it and ensure that the gift is returned to the next generation.