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The Saturday following the Holy Feast of the Glorious Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ, the Armenian Church commemorates the beheading of St. John the Baptist (also known as The Forerunner). The writers of the Gospels, St. Matthew and St. Mark, have explained the history of beheading of St. John the Baptist, who had baptized Christ, and gave the good news of His Coming …
Konstantin Orbelian, a music prodigy, became one of the mainstays of Armenian jazz in the twentieth century.
He was born on July 29, 1928, in the town of Armavir (North Caucasus). His musical talents became clear at an early age. He was sent to a school for gifted children at the Baku Conservatory, but he studied there for a short time. His father was arrested and shot during the Stalin purges in 1936. Two years later, his mother was arrested and sentenced to five years of exile. Their children Haroutioun and Konstantin became “children of people’s enemies” overnight.
Eleven-year-old Konstantin Orbelian was immediately expelled from the musical school and had to earn some living as a musical accompanist to gymnasts.
Today, we commemorate the Holy Martyrs of the Armenian Genocide. As we lift our hearts in prayer and remembrance, we declare to the world that faith is stronger than fear, that love outlasts hate, and that God’s light still shines through the darkest chapters of our history.
The Apostle Paul asked a bold question in the book of Romans: “Who shall separate us from the love of Christ?” He was declaring a truth that generations have held on to in the darkest of times. And no one has held onto it quite like the Armenian people.
Before the sun had even risen… before the city had awakened… before the world knew what was about to happen, something miraculous was already underway. The Gospels tell us that on the first Easter morning, a few faithful women who cared for Jesus made their way to His tomb. It was a tomb cut into a solid rock, sealed with a massive stone.
Their hearts on that morning were heavy with grief. The tears of Good Friday were still fresh on their cheeks. They were still carrying the pain of loss, the sting of disappointment, the crushing weight of despair. It felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on their hearts like a heavy stone blocking out all hope.
Palm Sunday is the celebratory bridge between two periods of profound reflection on the Armenian Church calendar, Lent and Holy Week. On Palm Sunday, the sanctuary curtain was opened, the gospel reading commemorated Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem, Holy Communion was offered for the first time in 40 days and the Opening of the Doors ceremony was performed.
With the joyful tidings of Christ’s Holy Resurrection and with supplication for divine grace, we convey to all of you our Patriarchal love, blessings, and heartfelt wishes.
The Feast of the Holy Resurrection is the proclamation of the victory of life over death—a triumph for which the Son of God sacrificed Himself, a victory affirmed as a radiant testament to God’s boundless love for humanity. Our Lord was persecuted, subjected to suffering, crucified, and tasted death. Confronted with the sorrowful reality of the Son of God’s self-sacrifice, as attested by the Evangelists, the disciples and followers of the Lord were overcome by discouragement and despair.
Yet, amid the anguish of death’s seemingly triumphant grip, the angelic proclamation from Christ’s empty tomb, “He is not here, but is risen” (Luke 24:6), became a beacon of enduring hope, strength, and inspiration. Truly, this joyous message is the triumphant hymn of Christ’s salvific mission.
On the first Easter morning, the women who cared for Jesus made their way to His tomb: a tomb cut into rock, with a great stone sealing its entrance. Their hearts on that morning were heavy with grief. The tears they had shed on Good Friday were not yet dried. The pain of loss, the ache of disappointment, the crushing weight of despair: it all weighed on them like a great stone, pressing down on their hearts. And as they walked, they asked a question that many of us have asked in our own lives: Who will remove the stone?
That stone represented finality. It marked the end of Jesus’ story—or so it seemed. He who had healed the sick, who had opened blind eyes, who had spoken words of Life—He was gone. The One who had lifted burdens was now sealed behind a burden too heavy to move.
Alexander Mantashiants was a prominent oil magnate of Baku who was also well known for his philanthropy.
Born in Tiflis on March 3, 1842, Mantashiants spent most of his childhood in Tabriz (northern Iran), where his father was involved in the cotton and textile trade. From early on, he joined his father in business. In 1869, he moved to Manchester, a major textile center, from where he helped ship goods to his father in Tabriz. His sojourn helped him learn the secrets and crafts of the textile industry, as well as the intricacies of European business and English culture, while he learned English, French, and German.
In 1872, Mantashiants returned to Tiflis with his father, where they became fully engaged in …
Today is Great, and Holy Wednesday and the Church gives us a powerful contrast to reflect on. On one side, we see Judas, one of the twelve, handpicked by Jesus. He had seen miracles, walked alongside the Messiah, heard the greatest sermons ever preached. But instead of offering his heart, he offered betrayal—for thirty pieces of silver.
And on the other side…there’s a woman. Her name isn’t even mentioned. She’s not famous. She doesn’t have a title. But what she does is unforgettable. She brings an alabaster jar of expensive oil. And without hesitation, she broke it open and poured it out on the head of Jesus and in that one bold act of worship, she honors the Savior of the world.
Today, we celebrate Palm Sunday, the triumphal entry of our Lord Jesus Christ into Jerusalem. We’ve walked through the 40 days of Lent praying, fasting, and reflecting, and now we stand at the gateway to Holy Week.
In the Armenian Church, we mark this day with a deeply symbolic service called “The Opening of the Doors.” At the end of Badarak, the priest knocks on the church door, and people sing together: “Open to us, O Lord, the door of Your mercy, and make us worthy to enter the dwellings of Your light.”
