“Christos Haryav ee Merelots. Christ is risen from the dead.” “Orhnyal ee Harutyun Christosi; Blessed is the Resurrection of Christ.” This past Sunday and continuing into the season of Eastertide, thousands of believers in the Armenian Christian community will greet each other with these powerful words as we celebrate the Resurrection. There are a few terms in our lives that need little explanation. The Feast of the Holy Resurrection is one of them. It is simply the most significant life-changing event that has shaped the direction of mankind. During Holy Week, Christ completed the fulfillment of the prophecies and defeated death by the Resurrection. It is the core of our faith, supreme confirmation that He is the Messiah and that through Him we have eternal life. Easter has always been my favorite holiday. The reasons have evolved, but the feelings have remained the same. Christmas is the birth of Our Savior, yet we cloud the experience with over-materializing the day and creating stress with distractions. We are fortunate as Armenians. In the diaspora, we can participate in the material celebratory day with “western Christmas” and then on January 6 spiritually reflect on the birth and baptism of Our Lord. With two “holidays” separated by less than two weeks, it has always helped me to become grounded in the core reason for the observance. This year, I participated in an Advent series of discussions at our church to focus on the meaning of Christ’s birth. It provided me with an even deeper understanding and helped minimize the secular noise we feel at Christmas. This is but one of the reasons our church is important. Thanksgiving is unique to our American life and a part of our local culture. When we set aside time to give thanks, it should be embraced. Most of us, however, associate this day with overeating and football. The Resurrection connects naturally with the metaphor of springtime and the renewal of life. As we anxiously await the rebirth of our trees, grass and plants, we can spiritually connect with the life-giving Resurrection.
Some of my fondest childhood memories are connected to Easter. My parents always insisted that we have a new Easter outfit. It was always the first opportunity to wear a lighter weight fabric and retire the woolen clothing from the winter. My mom and dad would take me to a local men’s shop to buy a sports jacket and pair of slacks. Your Sunday best was particularly important on Easter Sunday. My father was the church deacon, and my mom was active in the Sunday school, so it was a sure bet that we were never late. I didn’t fully appreciate it in my youth. I am sure there was more than one Sunday when my sisters and I were not fully cooperative. It didn’t matter because going to church was not a democratic process. As I look back, we are eternally grateful for the faith our parents instilled in us. I was an altar server as were many of my peers. The hymns (sharagans) have always held a warm place in my heart. I always anticipated Easter season because my favorite hymn, Kovya Yeroosaghem uz Der, was sung by the choir. It is a beautiful hymn that evokes such emotion, and the words speak of the essence of our faith. It is sung early in the service, which was one of the benefits of my parents’ commitment. I still search for various versions of this sharagan on YouTube to listen when it is not that season in church. Isn’t it amazing how joyous the badarak and the congregants seem on Easter? Perhaps it was because there was no hokehankist (requiem) or perhaps the Easter sharagans were sung, but it always felt upbeat. I have come to know that the feeling was the mystery of the Holy Spirit on the great news of the Resurrection. We are celebrating the greatest news ever. After church, the parish in Indian Orchard always held an Easter breakfast. The Ladies Guild was the sponsor of this iconic gathering of choreg, eggs, cheese, olives and other essentials. That breakfast has always held a special memory for those of us who grew up in the St. Gregory parish. When I was very young, we would secure our favorite eggs and initiate the egg cracking contest. We would then sneak off with our friends for some harmless mischief. The important reflection was that we were under the protection of our beloved Armenian church. We were doing things that kids love to do at church.
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This past Sunday, I attended badarak with my family at our parish. Before the fellowship began, our Der Hayr offered a home blessing service. Our three-year-old grandson Krikor was having a grand time running around the church hall. It brought back vivid memories. When Der Hayr and his deacons began the brief service, he asked Krikor to stand near him. I was stunned when Krikor complied and stood reverently between the priest and the deacon. He even crossed himself at the appropriate times. I was nearly brought to tears as I witnessed another act of faith. It was so uncharacteristic of him to stand seriously for 10 minutes that I cannot help but feel the presence of God in this young boy. It took me back for a moment to our youth. I wish that all the children in our communities find their spiritual identity through our church. The Feast of the Holy Resurrection is very special. Everyone at those breakfasts usually helped to clean up, which is how it works in small communities. You learn to get your hands dirty early. It’s the values we were given and which have guided us.
After church, there would be a family gathering. Many of our Easters were spent with my maternal grandparents, who lived in New Britain, Connecticut and attended the St. Stephen’s parish. Some years, our grandparents would come to our home, and many times we would go to New Britain. Regardless of the location, we all waited for our grandfather Takvor to select his egg for the cracking contest. My grandfather always insisted on having mezze that started with offering my father a “highball.” This drink consisted of whiskey and ginger ale. Of course, we weren’t offered the drink, but we did enjoy the ginger ale, which is how my affinity for that beverage began. Whenever I have a ginger ale, my mind wanders back to warm family gatherings. Grandpa always wanted olives, cheese and patz hatz (cracker bread) displayed before we could crack the eggs. He would meticulously select his egg by tapping the shell on his front teeth. With a twinkle in his eye, he would tell us that the harder shells made a certain sound. Because we loved him dearly, we would all walk around tapping eggs on our teeth without the slightest inkling of what we were doing. I am not certain about the science behind my grandpa’s ritual, but I think he won the contest more often than others. Grandma Nevart would enter the room with her warm choreg that was the perfect complement to the ginger ale and eggs. There was no need for television or other forms of entertainment for the children. We all gathered around the food and found joy in each other’s company. I honestly don’t ever remember being bored as we always waited for one of grandpa’s entertaining stories. Our grandmother always made a cake made out of a mold of a lamb. The religious reference became obvious when we were older. It became another tradition that built such warm memories. That mold is still in our family as my sister Linda uses it every year for her family’s Easter. In fact, I just received a picture of this year’s lamb cake with her grandson Ben, which would make him the great great grandson.
We have all experienced the “Sunday night” letdown after our Armenian and family weekend life. Easter night was particularly challenging as we returned to school. For at least the first three days, the lunch our mom prepared was predictable: hard boiled Easter eggs, choreg, cheese and olives. I remember one day during my middle school years, I was sitting in the cafeteria with some friends who also had Easter eggs for lunch. When we started to eat, I almost screamed when I saw one of my friends crack the shell of his egg on the table. “What are you doing?” I exclaimed with my egg extended for a cracking contest. They were all looking at me like I was an alien. They had no idea about cracking eggs as a cultural ritual. In my sheltered life, I thought everyone cracked eggs. As soon as I explained the tradition, their competitive instincts took over, and we had a competition at our table. Regardless of how many people were attending dinner, we always colored more eggs than necessary thus creating the lunch opportunity to work off the leftovers. My grandparents were deeply spiritual individuals, and I am grateful that we were raised with such dignified people. As a boy, I would watch my grandfather in church and learn the protocols of worshiping. He prayed every night before bedtime; as he aged and needed assistance, I cherished those moments of his giving thanks.
During badarak on Easter Sunday, the message in the sermon was very focused. It was all about The Resurrection. It is the core of our faith. It gives us hope which is a pillar for life. It is the path through Him for eternal life. It is truly a celebration of the greatest act that altered the direction of mankind and the greatest example of love ever displayed. Our Armenian church recognizes this with scripture, hymns and rituals that are woven together and are the essence of our faith. The Easter bunnies are cute and offer our children moments of happiness, but this season offers us the foundation of life on earth and for eternity. We are reminded during this season of the importance of bringing God’s love into our homes and to teach our children through our church about the hope and promise created by the Resurrection.
