I grew up in a small Armenian parish in Indian Orchard that required our limited resources to work together to function as a community. There was no time or tolerance for long-term disagreements. When you live in a community with a small local population, you learn to “count the house” at an early age. Would everyone show up for Sunday school this week? What kind of a turnout would we have at our May 28 celebration? Critical mass was a constant challenge. Everyone was cross-trained in the core work of the church to survive if a few people were unable to attend that week. As I look back on those years, we were a highly functioning community, and our anxiety was probably a reaction to living in a culture with limited resources. Living in that environment also gave us the opportunity to participate in a wide variety of responsibilities.
Young people were encouraged to organize events and participate in weekly, labor-intensive activities such as setting up the Sunday school classrooms and cleaning the church facility. We also had the opportunity to develop public speaking skills by offering greetings during community events and preparing for elected positions. It was under these circumstances that I was first elected as a delegate to the Prelacy’s National Representative Assembly in my mid-20s. The encouragement I received from the elders of the parish gave me the confidence to overcome my inexperience. Having always considered myself a student of our journey, I was quite familiar with the history of the See of Cilicia and the establishment of the Prelacy in 1956-57. Fortunately, I was young enough that some of the pillars who laid the foundation of what we have today were present at the assembly. One of the elders in my community advised me to acquire knowledge to help our people. These were the titans of our foundation. My own father was there during those critical early years of building the Prelacy. I was fortunate to be mentored by several of these leaders, who helped me navigate the tricky waters of communal democracy. Their kindness during those initial years of service significantly influenced my values on the importance of mentoring in our communities.
The concerns of the church have not changed in the last several decades. Church finances, youth engagement, secular pressure and relevance in the diaspora have been top-tier concerns for many years. In one sense, they can be considered chronic issues and, as such, will always be prominent priorities. During one of the assemblies I attended, there was a passionate debate on the floor concerning the knowledge of future generations. It evolved into a mild indictment of our educational system, which offended some of the delegates. A gentleman from St. Stephen’s in Watertown rose and addressed the assembly with a perspective that quieted the forum. He used the term “functional illiterates” to describe both his generation and emerging generations of adherents who may participate in the life of the church but lack knowledge of our canons, protocols, structure and history to be optimally effective. He described it as a creeping phenomenon that would pervade our church if we don’t confront the issue. I was stunned by his comments and deeply connected with them. We were losing the generation that bridged life in Armenia and the rebuilt life in America.
The concerns of the church have not changed in the last several decades. Church finances, youth engagement, secular pressure and relevance in the diaspora have been top-tier concerns for many years.
Generations born in the diaspora would have to be motivated and taught. Passing on functional knowledge to newer generations born outside the homeland was an arduous task left to part-time education and competition for their attention. The cost of failing would result in “functional illiteracy.” That day remains vivid in my mind because I internalized that participation in our communities is not enough. We must be filled with a foundation of knowledge so contributions can be assured. This challenge has become more acute with intermarriage in our communities. Whenever we discuss this issue, defensive-minded people offer examples of non-Armenian spouses serving on boards of trustees or parish councils. My question is this: How equipped do they feel to serve the church, or are they made to feel like “outsiders” when topics requiring church knowledge surface? How often do we sponsor orientation sessions on church history, practices, customs, canons and protocols? In today’s environment, these should be held for all participants, whether they are Armenian or not.
Substantive knowledge has declined, and our church is less effective as a result. It places more pressure on the local priest as a resource and can lead to disagreements when unintended ignorance is displayed. It is a sign of respect to reward commitment with the tools to succeed. Ignorance is not intended to be an insult. It simply implies a lack of knowledge. We need to place a higher value on the critical need for relevant knowledge. The lack of such knowledge has led to conflict, divisions and people leaving our communities.
A simple example of conveying respect is how we greet clergy. The Armenian Church has a series of brief and beautiful greetings that convey respect and warmth instantly. Greeting a married priest with Orhnetsek Der Hayr — “Bless me, Father” — or a celibate priest with Asdvats Oknagan — “May God be your helper” — sets a clear tone. How often today do we hear an adult say,”Hi, Der Hayr,” or “How are you?” I am not advocating this because of tradition, but rather it reflects the importance of the role of the priest in our church. We have all experienced awkward moments trying to remember the greetings, especially with celibate clergy, but maintaining simple signs of respect is how fruitful relationships are initiated.
Our family has been fortunate to experience the fullness of the Armenian Church in America despite the administrative division. It has given us unique perspectives by allowing us to participate fully in both the Diocese and the Prelacy. As noted earlier, the Prelacy has been my foundation of knowledge, experience and identity. Like many of my generation, we were blessed with parents who made participation in the life of the church a priority. The AYF offered us lifelong friendships and practical experience in interpersonal relationships and project planning.
As a young boy, I was drawn to the history of the See of Cilicia. My father had a few books on its history. One of them contained many pictures with captions of historical events of the 20th century, such as the destruction of the See’s longtime seat in Sis, Cilicia, during the genocide. It continued with the difficult period when Cilicia had no permanent home until 1930 while attending to the homeless faithful survivors. A separate section was devoted to the Catholicoi serving the post-1930 Antelias period. I marveled at the strength, courage and determination of these leaders. The rebirth of the Holy See was a microcosm of the global Armenian rebirth during the first half of the 20th century. It was a story that all Armenians should hold close to their heart, yet that is not the reality. One of the most significant impacts of our division is the limits it placed on our learning. Walls were established that prevented dialogue and knowledge for generations. The division here in North America continues, but the relationships have healed, and the overt hatred has been replaced with tolerance and respect. What remains is lingering ignorance.
We need to place a higher value on the critical need for relevant knowledge. The lack of such knowledge has led to conflict, divisions and people leaving our communities.
When our children were in their teens, circumstances led us to begin attending a diocesan church. I immersed myself in the life of the parish and eventually served several years on the parish council and as a Diocesan Assembly delegate. As a former delegate to the Prelacy’s NRA and Executive Council, I was able to observe and learn about the state of both segments of our North American Church. From a strategic view, I made two major observations. First, the problems of the Armenian Church in the diaspora are common. The content of both assemblies deals with the same issues: finances, youth, relevance and secularism. The second observation is that years of structural isolation have produced a lack of knowledge that is a loss for the Armenian nation. We replaced knowledge with misconceptions, bias and separation.
In 1991, the diocesan churches in America began displaying the tricolor flag. This decision was not based on embracing history but reflected acceptance of the flag by the newly established Republic of Armenia. It was joyous to see all Armenians embracing the flag, but it was accompanied by an air of superficial ignorance. The flag was a common theme, but the foundation of history was lost in the Diocese. This rich history, ignored because of unfortunate bias, was now denied to a new generation. It has resulted in a void of knowledge about 20th-century Armenian history for a significant population.
For many years, I volunteered to teach history at St. Vartan Camp, which is run by the Eastern Diocese. Taking advantage of warming relations, I was able to convey the history of the genocide and post-genocide era with content these children had not known. There were substantive discussions that reminded me that children have open minds and a thirst for knowledge. Included in the curriculum was material on the four hierarchical sees of the Armenian Church, including the See of Cilicia. In a small way, I could hear some of the walls crumbling down and being replaced by knowledge. Instead of viewing Antelias from the lens of division, we reviewed its iconic place in Armenian Church history. It is, and remains, an Armenian treasure.
Why is it that we often approach our history with tainted lenses? The See of Cilicia has been a revered center of spiritual and intellectual leadership for centuries. It was the seat of the Catholicos of All Armenians until political circumstances permitted its return to Etchmiadzin. It is a functioning part of the soul of the Armenian Church, producing such brilliant leaders as Karekin I Hovsepian and Karekin II Sarkissian. Their leadership in ecumenical relations and publications is renowned, yet it is shocking to know how little functional knowledge of the Great House of Cilicia exists in the Diocese outside of the clergy. In many cases, we have rejected knowledge and embraced ignorance. Although to a far lesser degree, the reverse is true. Many Armenians in the Prelacy and Diocese know Etchmiadzin. This dilemma has two main causes.
We don’t teach our history, particularly our modern history. This observation is based on decades in classrooms, camps and retreats. The other factor is that history in general, although a key component of identity, is not emphasized in American society. Ignorance weakens our roots and withers our identity. This is a gift that we give to children for them to sustain their identity. Choose knowledge over ignorance.
