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.

BACK ON TRACK

One of the very first words I picked up when I moved to New York City back in 2017 was the word “commuter.” If you’ve lived in or around this city, you know exactly what it means. A commuter is someone who’s always on the move. They wake up early, grab their coffee, and head to the train, bus, or subway. Rain or shine, snow or summer—they’re going. They have somewhere to be.

I remember one morning, in my early days in the city, I got on the wrong train. I was supposed to be going downtown, but the train started heading uptown. For a moment, I panicked. I felt confused and disoriented. But then it hit me: there’s always a way back. I simply got off at the next stop, crossed the platform, and caught the train going the right way.

KEEP PUSHING

Have you ever noticed how the first part of a workout feels easy, almost effortless? For me, it’s like that with push-ups. At the beginning, I feel strong. But when I get to the last two or three, that’s when the struggle kicks in. My arms are shaking, my mind is telling me, “Stop. This is painful. You can’t go any further.”

But here’s the truth: those last painful ones are the ones that make me stronger. The discomfort and pressure are temporary, but the results—the strength, the growth—last for a long time.

Life works the same way. The breakthrough rarely comes at a time when everything feels comfortable. It comes when you press through the pain, when you keep going even though it hurts. That’s the moment when God is stretching you, enlarging your capacity, preparing you for the next level of your journey.

ONE STEP AT A TIME

When Jacob was running from his brother Esau, tired and alone, he laid his head on a rock and had a dream. In that dream, he saw a ladder reaching all the way to heaven, with angels ascending and descending upon it (Genesis 28:10–12). That vision was God’s way of showing Jacob—and us—that heaven and earth are connected, that there is a path between our struggles here and God’s glory above.

I love the image of the ladder because what matters is not your position on it, but the direction you’re going. Whether you’re just stepping on or have been climbing for years, the most important thing is that you keep moving upward.

STILLNESS IN THE RUSH

Have you ever found yourself at Grand Central Terminal or any busy train station during rush hour? If you have, you know what it’s like—waves of people surging in every direction. The noise, the urgency, the momentum. It’s a river, and once you’re in it, it can feel like you’re swept along whether you like it or not. There’s barely time to think, let alone to pause.

But in that fast-moving crowd, have you ever seen someone stop? Maybe they’re looking at a map or checking the signs. And in that moment of stillness, something powerful happens. They refuse to be carried by the crowd. They choose to find their direction before they move.

THE KEY WITHIN

There’s an old story about a man who was down on his hands and knees under a streetlamp one evening, searching for something. A passerby saw him and asked, “What are you looking for?” The man replied, “I lost my key.” Wanting to help, the passerby got down and began searching as well.

After a few minutes, he asked, “Are you sure you lost it here?” The man said, “No, I lost it inside my house.” Puzzled, the passerby asked, “Then why are you looking out here?” The man smiled and said, “Because there’s more light out here.”

TENDING THE GARDEN

A Sunday school teacher once had a discussion with a person who firmly believed that children should not be given formal religious instruction but should be free to choose their own religious faith when they reached maturity.

The teacher, not wanting to disagree outright, decided to demonstrate her point. She invited the person to see her garden. As they walked in, the visitor was taken aback. “Do you call this a garden?” he exclaimed. “There is nothing but weeds here!”

The teacher, with a gentle smile, replied, “Well, you see, I did not wish to infringe upon the liberty of the garden in any way. I was giving the garden a chance to express itself.”

LET THE WALLS SPEAK

In Romania, I visited the famous Voroneț Monastery, often referred to as the “Sistine Chapel of the East.” The church is entirely covered—inside and out—with vibrant frescoes. You see saints, angels, and powerful scenes from Scripture: Noah and the Ark, the Resurrection, the Last Judgment. It’s absolutely breathtaking.

What’s even more remarkable is that these frescoes were painted in the 15th and 16th centuries—more than 500 years ago. Over the centuries, they’ve endured snow, rain, wind, and the passage of time. The colors have faded a little, yes, but the message remains. The beauty still resonates. The stories still speak.

BUILT TO WITHSTAND

Last year, I had the privilege of meeting one of the most distinguished Armenian architects in the Diaspora. Ronald Altoon, a former National President of the American Institute of Architects, shared something that stayed with me. He spoke about why so many buildings in Gyumri collapsed during the devastating earthquake.

He explained that those buildings were designed in Moscow, where architects are primarily concerned with wind, not earthquakes. So they reinforced the tops of the buildings to withstand strong gusts. However, Armenia is situated in a major seismic zone. The threat wasn’t above, but beneath. Those buildings didn’t fall because they were weak at the top. They fell because they weren’t prepared at the foundation.

GRACE ISN’T LINEAR

Have you ever noticed that there are rarely straight lines in nature? Look around at the world God has made—the trees, the rivers, the hills. None of them grow or flow in perfectly straight lines. The branches of a tree twist and turn. The course of a river winds through the land. Mountains rise unevenly, each with its own shape. There is beauty everywhere, but not straight lines.

Straight lines are a human abstraction. We invented them. We use them to build roads and walls, cities and skyscrapers. We love order, predictability, and efficiency. And for good reason, these things help us live and work. But God, the Creator of the universe, paints with a different brush. His handiwork is full of curves, meanders, slopes, and spirals. His way of shaping the world is not always linear, and neither is His way of shaping our lives.

CHANGE THE CHANNEL

The other day, I was driving down the FDR Drive—those of you who live in New York City know exactly what that’s like. That highway will test your faith! You’ve got to pray and drive at the same time. Well, someone cut me off in traffic, just swerved right in front of me. No signal, no warning. Just like that.

Now I want to be honest with you, I got angry. I began imagining what I might say if I were ever to come face-to-face with that driver. Have you ever been there? Rehearsing your comeback, imagining how you’ll tell someone off, thinking, “That’ll show them!”