The Wayward Jackass
12/26/02

Many years ago, in a little Armenian village, a parish priest who was walking 
through stopped to talk with many of his parishioners along the way.  It was on 
such an unusually beautiful spring day that one of his parishioners stopped to 
tell him about his lost jackass named, “Ahboush.”

“Please Hy Soorp Chemkidarian,” pleaded Hagop Gorsivudzian, “he’s a very 
affectionate and friendly animal, almost human in fact, and I’d sure hate to 
lose him.”

The good Hy Soorp was very obliging so as he kept walking through the village 
exchanging niceties with his flock, he also kept inquiring about Hagop’s 
affectionate, friendly, almost human but wayward jackass.

Sunday came and Ahboosh was nowhere to be found.  There was a hoki hankisd and 
on this particular Sunday, the little village church was filled beyond capacity.  
Besides the village regulars, many who knew the deceased had also come from some 
of the outlying areas to pay their final respects.

After the first half of the badarak was over, the little choir seated themselves 
and Hy Soorp Chemkidarian came forward in his religiously humble but dominant 
manner to give his Sunday sermon.  And to add to his religiously humble but 
dominant manner, he was wearing his new vestments - vestments which a few of 
the village wives had lovingly sewn and brocaded for him.  But not withstanding 
Hy Soorp’s new vestments, his sermons were very soul-searching and very 
provocative.  And on top of all that, his sermons were very articulate and 
expertly done.  So much so that even on those Sundays when there was no hoki 
hankisd, many would still come from long distances just to hear him speak.

But before his sermon, on this particular Sunday, he calmly announced the loss 
of Gorsivodzians prized jackass, Ahboosh to his anticipating spellbound attendees.
  This done, he took his usual overpowering oblique stance on the foot of the altar, 
took his all too familiar deep breath, and then, with his bejeweled shepherd’s 
staff clutched tightly to his ring-laden right hand, he turned his head toward 
those who were in attendance, and in his most overpowering and thunderous voice 
he asked, “My faithful brothers and sisters, is there any among us here today 
who haven’t angered and succumbed to the use of a profane word on occasion?”

Hy Soorp took another deep breath, but before he could continue his sermon, 
a young man suddenly jumped up and shouted, “Hy Soorp, Hy Soorp, my name is 
Hovsep Muckoorian and as God is my witness, I have never polluted my soul with 
profanity, whether in anger or for any other reason.”

“Excellent, excelling,” remarked the startled Hy Soorp, but not to be denied he 
exhaled and took another deep breath and bellowed out, “And is there any among 
us here today who haven’t drank from the devil’s flask?”   You know what I’m 
talking about,” he shouted.  And then in a more subdued tone, he asked, “Is 
there any among us who has never tasted or even drank in excess any of those 
beverages that intoxicates and pollutes the soul of man?”

Again before Hy Soorp Chemkidarian could continue his sermon, the same young 
man stood up and shouted, “Hy Soorp, Hy Soorp.  As God is my witness, I have 
never tasted any of Satan’s ferments and as this old saying goes, “Lips that 
touch wine shall never touch mine.”

“Uh, yes, yes.  Very good, young man.” remarked the now very irritated Hy Soorp, 
but he went on.  “And is there any among us here today who can honestly say that 
they have never secretly coveted sinful intentions toward someone of the 
opposite sex?”

You guessed it.  The same young man stood up shouting.  “Hy Soorp, Hy Soorp, 
I have never used a profane word, I have never drunk a drop of alcohol, nor 
have I ever looked upon any of the opposite sex except with the most honorable 
of intentions.”

Well, that did it.  Hy Soorp Chemkidarian was beside himself.  He turned from 
his oblique stance to where he was now directly facing his concerned congregants.  
He was visibly shaken.  After an excruciating moment of silence, with his clutched 
bejeweled shepherds staff pointing troublingly at the outspoken young man, 
he shouted, “Where is that man who was looking for a lost jackass named Ahboosh?”

Old Armenian saying, “Eshoun Zahvaguh mart gullah, martoon zahvaguh esh gullah.”

Joseph Vosbikian