BISHOP MESROP PARSAMYAN, DIOCESAN PRIMATE

Messages Written by Bishop Mesrop Parsamyan

Bishop Mesrop Parsamyan is the Primate of the Eastern Diocese of the Armenian Church of America, one of the main branches of the Armenian Apostolic Church in the United States. Born in Yerevan, Armenia, he studied at the Gevorgian Theological Seminary of Holy Etchmiadzin and later pursued advanced theological education in Europe. Ordained as a celibate priest in 2003, he served Armenian communities in Armenia, France, Switzerland, and eventually the United States, where he became known for his pastoral leadership, teaching, and outreach work.

As Primate, Bishop Mesrop oversees Armenian churches and clergy across the eastern United States, guiding religious, cultural, and educational programs for Armenian Americans. Since his election in 2022, he has focused on engaging younger generations, strengthening Armenian Christian identity in the diaspora, and expanding the Church’s presence through media and community outreach. He also represents the Armenian Church in interfaith and public settings, helping preserve Armenian spiritual and cultural traditions in American society.

INTO THE DEEP

Yesterday, I visited the ancient Haghartsin Monastery in the Tavush region of Armenia — a holy place where monks once prayed and sang, where faith has endured storms of history. I walked to a quiet corner where Khachadour Daronatsi Vartabed rests, the 12th-century monk who gave us the hymn we sing at the very beginning of the Badatak: Khoroord Khorin, “Deep Mystery.” Both words spring from the same root: khor, meaning “deep.”

Even the Armenian word for meditation — khorhel/խորհել — comes from that same place of depth. From the very first notes of the Badarak, Daronatsi whispers something essential to our souls: Go deep, meditate, step fully into the mystery. The Badarak is not meant to be rushed or skimmed like the headlines of our day; it is an invitation to sink into the mystery of God.

LEAVE YOUR MARK

There is a story told about a master craftsman who created a pencil and spoke to it before sending it out into the world. “There are five things,” he said, “that I want you to always remember to have a productive life.” His words, though meant for the pencil, echo God’s wisdom for our hearts.

First, the master said, “The most important part of you will always be what’s inside. Your true worth is within you.” A pencil’s value isn’t the painted wood on the outside, but the lead inside. So it is with us. Appearances, titles, or possessions don’t measure our true worth. It comes from the image of God imprinted deep in our souls (cf. Genesis 1:27).

LOVE CARVED IN STONE

This morning I woke up at the Mother See of Holy Etchmiadzin — the beating heart of our Armenian Church. (I’m visiting Armenia this week with the FAR board to see their programs firsthand). As the sun rose, I stepped outside to pray and walk around the Cathedral, just like I often do. But today, something stopped me in my tracks. Right there, in front of the ancient Cathedral, workers were installing a medieval khachkar — a cross-stone from the year 1279.

Now, most of the Armenian crosstones don’t show Christ on the cross; they proclaim victory, His resurrection, the triumph of life. But this one was different. It is called Amenaprkich — All-Savior. In its center, the crucified Christ. Not to dwell on defeat, but to declare unstoppable love. On its sides, in ancient script, were these breathtaking words: “The hands that created the heavens you spread on the cross.”

GOD NEVER FORGETS

Each weekend, I travel to different parishes to celebrate Badarak, ordinations, and milestones. But ministry is never confined to the altar alone. One of its greatest joys is going beyond church doors and stepping into homes and hearts. It means sitting beside those who cannot come to church because of age, illness, or limitation. It means carrying the Church to them, bringing Christ’s presence into quiet living rooms and hospital rooms.

Yesterday in Philadelphia, I had one of those beautiful moments. With Der Hagop Gevorgyan, we visited Ethel Terzian (shared here with her family’s permission), a lifelong member of Holy Trinity Armenian Church in Cheltenham. For decades, she poured her love into her parish — praying, serving, giving. Today her steps may be slower, but her faith is still vibrant; her heart still shines with God’s light. When I walked into her room, I felt the presence of the Lord there.

THE MASTER GARDENER

When I last visited St. Nersess Seminary, Der Mardiros Chevian proudly showed me the little garden behind his residence. You could see the joy on his face as he talked about each plant, each flower. He loves tending it, watering it, watching it grow. But he also said something that struck me. He said, “The hardest part of gardening isn’t planting the seeds—it’s dealing with the weeds.”

Gardeners know that weeds are persistent. You can cut them down at the surface, but if you don’t pull them up by the root, they’re coming right back. You can prune the leaves, you can cut them with shears, but unless you deal with the root, the problem isn’t going away.

And that is a picture of the world we live in. Humanity has tried every tool in the shed to solve its deepest problems…

BEAUTY FROM ASHES

Recently, I read something fascinating about the lodgepole pine tree growing in the forests of the American West. Its cones are sealed tight with a resin so strong that no amount of rain can soften it. The wind can’t break it open. Even time itself won’t release what’s inside. The only thing powerful enough to open those cones is the intense heat of a wildfire.

After the flames pass through, the cones open, the seeds fall into the rich ash-filled soil, and a brand-new forest begins to grow. What seems like destruction is actually the beginning of new life. Out of ashes, a new forest takes root.

That’s how it is in your life. You carry seeds of potential inside of you—dreams, gifts, callings, things God has planted deep within your heart. But some of those seeds will never come out just by waiting. They won’t be released by comfort, ease, or time. Sometimes, it takes the fire.

THE BEAUTY OF A SEASON

The other day, I wrote about my years in the Divanatun—the chancellery of the Holy See—as God’s training ground. There I learned many lessons, but one of the greatest was this: a single word carries power. One word can shape the meaning of a sentence. One word can shift the way we understand an entire thought.

One word I intentionally use in my writing and sermons is ‘season.’ Because life is not a constant state—it moves, it shifts, it grows. Life is made up of seasons: seasons of joy and seasons of pain; seasons of waiting and seasons of breakthrough. And when you begin to look at your life through this lens, everything starts to look different.

The Holy Scriptures remind us: “To everything there is a season, and a time for every purpose under heaven” (Ecclesiastes 3:1).

EVERY SEASON COUNTS

In 2007, after graduating from the University of Strasbourg, I returned to Holy Etchmiadzin. His Holiness appointed me as Deputy Chancellor. I found myself working in the Divanatun, at the chancellery, surrounded by letters, documents, and speeches. My days were filled with writing, editing, revising—again and again. Each word had to be chosen carefully. Each sentence had to be refined until it carried the right meaning.

To be honest, I was not happy in those days. I wondered, Is this really what God has called me to do? I did not see purpose in the endless hours of rewriting and polishing. I thought perhaps my gifts were meant for something else.

WORDS THAT MATTER

We often wonder if our words matter, if our small efforts of kindness, encouragement, or truth-telling make any real difference in this noisy, crowded world. And the answer is: yes, it does! In Isaiah 50:4, the prophet says, “The Sovereign Lord has given me a well-instructed tongue, to know the word that sustains the weary.”

God desires to speak through us. Not just through prophets, priests or bishops, but through you. Through your quiet words of comfort to a grieving friend. Through your choice to bless rather than curse. Through your decision to speak hope when others are only speaking fear. Every time you do this, you are echoing heaven.

TASTE AND SEE

When I was a teenager serving on the altar at St. Sarkis Church, one of my favorite moments in the Badarak was just before communion, when we sang the hymn “Blessed is God.” I especially loved the line, “Taste and see that the Lord is good, Alleluia.” At that age, my joy was simple but profound—I loved the taste of the Holy Communion. It was sweet, unforgettable, and even today, when I sit down to write, I can still recall that taste as though it happened yesterday.

But as I grew older and entered seminary, I began to see that these words point to something much deeper than bread and wine. They are an invitation, a call from God Himself, to be in communion with Him, so that we don’t simply know about His goodness, but truly experience it.