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  • Well sharpened dialogue

    Well sharpened dialogue

    APRIL 11TH, 2015


    As the Armenian church celebrates Easter today and the community marks
    100 years since the genocide THEO PANAYIDES meets Archbishop Nareg
    Alemezian

    It's a good time to interview His Eminence Nareg Alemezian, Archbishop
    of the Armenian Apostolic Orthodox Church in Cyprus - because today is
    Easter Sunday for the local Armenian community (numbering about 3,500
    souls), one of the many things their Church does slightly differently
    to its Greek Orthodox counterpart. The Archbishop's sermon (spoiler
    coming up for Armenian readers!) will be taking a very specific tack,
    not just celebrating Christ's resurrection but linking it to the
    resurrection of the Armenian people after the 1915 genocide - because
    this year marks the 100th anniversary of that hellish time when around
    1.5 million perished at the hands of Ottoman troops, just before the
    creation of modern-day Turkey. That's another reason why our interview
    is topical.

    Just last week, Parliament amended the law to make denial of the
    genocide a criminal offence in Cyprus (Armenia wasn't mentioned by
    name, but the change in the law - making it sufficient if the genocide
    in question has been recognised by our parliament, as opposed to an
    international court - was clearly designed to encompass the events of
    1915), a change the Archbishop welcomes; that kind of law is crucial
    "if we want to prevent future genocides," he says in his office at the
    Armenian Prelature, flanked by an icon of the Virgin Mary and a photo
    of the current 'Catholicos', Aram I. 'Catholicos' (meaning 'Supreme
    Patriarch') is a title unique to the Armenian Church - yet another of
    the things this small, traditional faith does slightly differently to
    its larger counterparts.

    His own name, 'Nareg', means 'well-sharpened sword' according to the
    internet - but this particular Nareg has a mild, earnest manner, eyes
    gazing patiently from above his bushy beard. His eyebrows have a
    slight upward slant when he talks, giving him a pleading, almost
    beseeching air. He tends to sit back in his chair, wrapped in priestly
    robes, his hand gesturing rhythmically as he talks. He's an easy
    talker, fluent in four languages - and in fact his previous post, when
    he was based in Lebanon (he only came to Cyprus in September 2014),
    was as Ecumenical Officer, "which is like foreign affairs minister. I
    was in charge of foreign relations for the Armenian church". One can
    see his patient, earnest manner having thrived in that job, fostering
    dialogue with other churches (including Islam) in Armenian dioceses
    from Iran to Venezuela.

    Lebanon is one of two headquarters for the Armenian Apostolic Orthodox
    Church (the other being Armenia itself). Lebanon - Beirut, to be
    precise - is also where he was born 53 years ago, the only child of "a
    very pious Christian family". His dad was a deacon in the church; his
    grandparents were survivors of the genocide, carrying memories of life
    in old Armenia; Nareg himself was never in any doubt about his future.
    "There is a story about my entering the kindergarten when I was three
    years old," he tells me, "[and] the principal asked 'What would you
    like to become?', and my immediate answer was: 'I want to become a
    clergyman'. So I consider this as a pure calling of God. It's a
    vocation."

    The only real decision - which he took at the age of 19, just before
    being ordained - was whether to become a married priest or a celibate
    priest; the former serve in the parishes, he explains, the latter
    "belong to a brotherhood" and are able to rise up the ranks, to Bishop
    or indeed Archbishop. The young man was advised to consult with his
    parents before making his decision (if nothing else, the celibacy of
    their only son would deprive them of grandchildren), but in fact the
    decision was easy. "You have two families now," cried his jubilant
    parents: "Your first family is the Church, and then you have your
    paternal family". Mum and Dad are now in their 80s, live in Montreal
    and see him when he visits every few months. "They are very happy.
    They always say this is the will of God."

    Isn't celibacy a huge sacrifice, though? "It's a decision of a
    lifetime," he admits, "it's a lifetime commitment. But, as I say, I
    don't regret it ... I consider celibacy also as a vocation". It's
    unclear how much of life he'd experienced at 19, having been ensconced
    in a seminary for eight years - but he'd certainly seen something of
    the dark side, since those were also the first years of Lebanon's
    civil war (it dragged on for years, long after he'd left for Vancouver
    in 1981). The war "was more or less fluid, it wasn't targeted in one
    place," he recalls. "There was a time - for weeks, months, sometimes a
    year - that we were enjoying relative peace. But other times, yes,
    there were some bombardments, and we received our share of
    destruction."

    His teenage memories of war are mostly innocuous - queuing up for
    bread with other seminarians, for instance ("to sustain our physical
    life," as he puts it). But he also recalls one time, after a
    bombardment, when he heard a commotion outside and went out to see a
    truck belonging to a local militia roaring down the street, dragging a
    person (presumably a prisoner) behind it. The soldiers were whooping
    and cheering, lost in "an atmosphere of happiness or satisfaction that
    they were driving that person around, and that person was going to be
    killed in that way," he says solemnly.

    Why doesn't God intervene in such situations? There's no easy answer
    to that question (the Archbishop mutters something about the soldiers
    having free will - but that still doesn't explain why He didn't
    intervene to help the victim, who must've been praying for all he was
    worth at that moment), in fact it's no mystery that God moves in
    mysterious ways. "I strongly believe that all my decisions, all my
    plans, all my steps are guided by God," says Nareg firmly - yet he
    also knows that God is elusive, and may just be a phantom for some
    people. What about atheism? Can he imagine a world without God?
    "Personally I cannot imagine that, and I cannot accept that," he
    replies. "But, on the other hand, if there are people who say 'I don't
    need God', I'm ready to respect their opinion. But they have to
    respect my opinion, saying that I need God [in order] to survive. I
    need God to live."

    It's a typical response from this genial, ecumenical man, a man for
    whom compromise seems to come naturally even as he stays very firm in
    his own beliefs; "I'm sure we can find common ground, through dialogue
    and through mutual trust," he affirms at one point. Dialogue is his
    forte, reaching out to other creeds. "I consider myself to be a person
    of all cultures, all faiths - a person in dialogue, a person in
    contact, a person in relationship," he says earnestly. "I feel like
    I'm part of the whole world, although I keep my Armenian identity".
    Despite his move to Cyprus (which may even feel like a step down,
    though of course he doesn't say so), he's still on the Central
    Committee and Executive Committee of the World Council of Churches,
    talking to everyone from Anglicans to Mennonites - and he still goes
    on "special assignments", as for instance next Sunday when Pope
    Francis will be holding a special Holy Mass on the 100th anniversary
    of the genocide. Catholicos Aram will be there, so will the President
    of Armenia - and so will Nareg Alemezian, indeed "I will be there
    prior to the visit, in order to organise the visit in a proper way".

    Ah yes, the anniversary. Events are being planned all over the world,
    wherever the Armenian diaspora has a presence. In Cyprus, a
    commemorative stamp is coming out, a photo exhibition is being
    organised, a book is being published on how the Greek press covered
    the atrocities in 1915, the Cyprus Symphony Orchestra is giving a
    performance with an Armenian guest conductor - and that's not even
    mentioning the religious service being held on April 24, viewed as the
    starting-date of the genocide.

    'But why dwell on it so much?' I ask, somewhat impertinently. After
    all, it was a long time ago. Why not just move on?

    He sighs patiently. "Well, we are ready to move on. Because our appeal
    has been, from the beginning, reconciliation - but based on
    forgiveness," he adds with emphasis. "You cannot forgive someone if
    that person does not say 'I'm sorry'". Turkey continues to deny the
    genocide; some have even claimed that Turks were killed by Armenians,
    instead of vice versa. Above all, the wounds haven't healed, despite
    the existence of an independent Armenia (which is only about one-tenth
    the size of "historical Armenia"); on the contrary, the violence
    persists as a kind of cultural genocide. "On a daily basis, we have
    many historical monuments in occupied Armenia - which is nowadays
    Turkey - being destroyed," he reports. Even in Cyprus there's the
    matter of Sourp Magar, the Armenian monastery in the occupied
    Pentadaktylos, not quite destroyed (at least not yet), but ruined by
    years of neglect.

    The Archbishop visited Sourp Magar eight years ago, while in Cyprus
    for an ecumenical conference, and visited again a couple of months
    ago; he was shocked by how much it's deteriorated. The place must be
    saved, he insists, but not as a historical monument - it needs to be
    restored as a monastery: "Monks have to live here. This place has to
    serve its purpose". The biggest obstacle isn't money, but politics; a
    full restoration, like he envisions, would have to be part of an
    overall solution to the Cyprus problem. Couldn't he just make a deal
    with the Turkish Cypriot authorities, maybe through a private
    investor? "I don't know," he replies, looking uncomfortable. "I have
    also to respect the position of the authorities of the Republic of
    Cyprus."

    It's a telling remark - because of course Armenians are a minority in
    Cyprus, totally integrated yet not quite assimilated, dependent to
    some small extent on the "hospitality" of their hosts. They used to
    live in a glorified ghetto in Nicosia (Victoria Street, now in the
    occupied north), but that's now changed - yet the Armenian Prelature
    is on Armenia Street, next to the Nareg Armenian School, and the
    neighbourhood is dotted with Armenian businesses. Armenian culture is
    fiercely preserved, "and the Church is the bastion of that
    preservation and enrichment". The Archbishop is a man on a mission.

    What kind of person is Nareg Alemezian? A man of God, in the literal
    sense of having devoted his whole life to religion - but also in the
    more general sense of being austere, ascetic, un-tempted by the world.
    "I'm a simple person," he shrugs. "I believe in simplicity in life."
    He lives simply, in a flat above the Prelature. He likes reading,
    mostly memoirs and biographies - recent subjects have included Pope
    John XXIII and Lee Kuan Yew, the late Prime Minister of Singapore -
    and classical music. "I've never said, for instance, that I like to
    drive this kind of car, or wear this kind of shirt," he tells me.
    "Whatever is given to us is a gift. As a matter of fact, our very life
    is a gift. And, in order to fulfil ourselves in the world, we have to
    think of spiritual and moral richness, not material. Unfortunately our
    world has become a very materialistic place, and our society a very
    consumerist place."

    He tells me a story. He lived for six years in New Jersey, working in
    the Armenian diocese there, and one of his great pleasures was reading
    the book reviews in the New York Times every Sunday. "The next day, I
    used to go to a bookstore," looking to buy what he'd read about - "and
    entering a bookstore was for me a great occasion of joy. But, on the
    other hand, I found that instead of buying one or two books, that I
    would have time to read, I became addicted to buying 10, 15, 20, even
    there was a time when I bought 75 books in one visit!". One day, he
    looked at the piles of unread books on his bookshelves and realised he
    was being self-indulgent - so "I stopped that habit. And now, I have a
    discipline. When I go to a bookstore I know what book I have to buy,
    and when I finish reading that book then I buy another book." He nods,
    in his mild gentle way: "This is the way of life that has to be
    adopted by all of us."

    Is that true? Some will agree, others may violently disagree. Life is
    short, they'll say; why deny yourself pleasure? The Archbishop will
    surely hear them out, and tell them he respects their opinion - but,
    for him, denial of pleasures (at least worldly pleasures) has been
    part of his life, part of his vocation. Meanwhile there's the question
    of Armenia, still surviving in its scattered global fragments, still
    intact but heavy with the memories of 1.5 million dead in a
    long-vanished homeland. "Still, we are uprooted," he tells me, and
    shakes his head sadly.


    http://cyprus-mail.com/?p=48877




    From: A. Papazian
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