By Marineh Khachadour

It’s the holiday season.

Many of the houses around my Pasadena neighborhood in California are decorated with colorful lights. Layering is the trend this year; the more the better.

Lawns, here and there, are adorned with blow-up plastic Santas, reindeer, and sleighs. Some are rocking nativity scenes - the holy mother, the baby in the manger, and the three Kings.

In another part of town, the home of the Balian family, the Armenian owners of an ice cream company, becomes a point of attraction every year. It is a destination tourists and local families travel to and rejoice in the transient magic of glowing lights that spark a child's imagination and add cheer to the onlookers' dark night, even if only a gesture.

In a culturally diverse community like mine, however, not everyone celebrates Christmas. So, it is customary to wish people "happy holidays" out of consideration to our non-Christian community members. Except this year, in particular, a concerted effort is noticeable to urge people to call Christmas what it is - "the birthday of Jesus."  So, wishing someone ”Happy Holidays" or  "Merry Christmas" communicates a stand beyond consideration, and  the way people decorate their front lawns also expresses their religious as well as socio-political affiliation.

I am Armenian: Christian by default. Christianity has been the reason why my people have been assaulted by their non-Christian neighbors for centuries. It has also been the single unifying force for the millions of diaspora Armenians dispersed around the world. Therefore, it has become an integral part of the Armenian identity.  The expectation is that a true Armenian must embrace this simple fact and live accordingly. So, my lack of enthusiasm about lighting up my house in the spirit of celebrating the birth of Christ begs some exploration and explanation.

I wish that my reasoning could be as simple as "I am avoiding a frivolous expense," or "I am not fond of wasting fossil fuels." Or, "I just don't care for the commercialized celebration of the spiritual that the holidays have come to underscore." All of which is true, but I know, there is a deeper reason behind the resentment that I feel.

Although Armenia was first among nations to adopt Christianity as its state religion, neither my parents nor I celebrated Christmas while growing up in Soviet Armenia.

I know we were not an exception to the rule. Armenia under the Soviet government was considered a secular society, and attending church, while not illegal, was not favored by people who considered themselves educated and enlightened.

At some point in middle grades, I learned that throughout history religion has been the cause of much psychological and physical harm to populations of humans. In pre-Soviet feudalist Armenia, rich landowners including the clergy would threaten their poor subjects in the name of God in order to discourage them from complaining and rebelling. The church has also been a cradle of public health epidemics. People believing in the holiness of church buildings, objects, and the priests, would touch their lips to the doors, walls, crosses, bibles, and the priest's hand, thus contracting viruses that spread disease.

No amount of anti-religious propaganda however could deter tradition deeply rooted in the belief system of the common folk. So, while mine was not a religious family, we believed that there was a God, and we visited his "house," the church on Easter and on occasion to get a blessing for a sacrificial rooster or a lamb. Whenever we did, I, an aspiring educated and enlightened person, experienced a great deal of anxiety. I worried about being seen by a teacher or a classmate. Afraid of being ridiculed, this was not a confession that I would make even to the closest of my friends.

My mother, and I am sure she was not the only one, put the fear of God in her children's hearts to the maximum. She often resorted to threatening me and my siblings into behaving well, lest we wanted father God, who could see and hear everything everywhere, to punish us. My grandmother echoed my mother's method of discipline with stories about blood-hounding Yahoudis  (Jews) who chased children and sucked their blood. As a child, I feared these creatures I had never seen or heard of anywhere else. I remember asking, "Why would they do such a thing?" My grandmother's response was that since they did it to Jesus, they would do it to anyone.

 I believed that God and Jesus were Armenian. Good was something to strive for. Evil was to be feared, and Father God would punish those who followed evil. It was not until much later that I understood that God has no nationality or gender. Jesus was a Jew, and so was Judas. Together they embodied the good and the evil, the right and the wrong, the just and the unfair, qualities ever present in the family of humans.

Given my early training, I have had difficulty incorporating God, the omnipotent and omniscient male figure who was bent on punishment, into my life. This, however, has not prevented me from seeking and finding unconditional love, forgiveness, and gratitude. Perhaps, the desire to free myself from the fear has been the driving force behind my unrelenting search.

My views of the higher power have changed over the years. I know now that religion by default does not add up to "hope, faith, and love, " and a person's relationship to a  higher power, whatever that may be, is a personal journey that may not necessarily lead one to Christ or to the church.

What has remained constant in my belief structure is that those in power use organized religion as a weapon and a tool to control others. Tradition can be blind and may even promote darkness, and as an individual, I can choose the traditions I practice, abandon, and create.

So, this holiday season, I choose to remain considerate to my non-Christian neighbors and friends and wish everyone around me happy holidays, peace and joy - all the good that God has to offer. He/she has looked over my people after all. Armenians have survived multiple wars and Genocide yet continue to flourish in this world. Every so often the Armenian genius appears in the sky of humanity as a shooting star. Someday, it may be a meteor shower. Miracles do happen.

As for decorating my lawn, I will keep it humble and will avoid toting my religious, social, and political affiliations like I avoid identifying myself with a brand of any kind. Perhaps, I can make a tiny difference in the way politics is being played as well.