When I was a child, we often spent our vacations in my mother’s village, Sevkar, in the Tavush region. My mother’s aunt would bake bread in a wooden oven, the old, ancient way. We, children, would be outside playing, running around without a care, and suddenly the air would change. The smell of fresh bread would reach us, and without anyone calling us, we would all run to the oven, excited to get our share. Today, as we entered Bethlehem, I felt that same stirring within me.

Today, we took a boat across the Sea of Galilee. As we moved over those waters, it was easy to picture that unforgettable moment when Jesus calmed the storm on this very lake. The disciples had set out with calm skies and steady waters. Everything felt manageable until it didn’t. The wind rose, the waves crashed, and water began to fill the boat. Storms still come like that. Unannounced. Unscheduled. One moment, life feels steady, and the next you’re facing winds you didn’t s

Today, we embark on our diocesan pilgrimage to Jerusalem. For generations, believers have dreamed of walking these holy paths. People have prayed for this moment, longed for it, and trusted God that one day they would stand where heaven touched earth. Some people travel to escape. Some travel to rest. But we are traveling to return to the roots of our faith, to the foundation of our hope, to the story that shaped our souls. We’re not going backward; we’re going deeper. This p