On the western façade of St. Sarkis Armenian Church in Dallas, there is a beautiful Armenian cross. From a distance, it looks like one single image. But when you step closer, you see that it is made of 1.5 million digitally-printed icons, each one representing a life lost in the Armenian Genocide of 1915. Every image is different. No two are the same. Each one carries its own detail, its own beauty, and its own sacred place within the cross. We are all like those small pieces

At the Heiligenkreuz Abbey (1133), a Cistercian monastery in the Vienna Woods of Austria. Our human existence can be compared to a book. Every day you are writing a page. Every decision becomes a sentence. Every prayer becomes a paragraph. Every act of kindness becomes a line that will never be erased. Your life is not random ink on paper. It is a story unfolding under the loving hand of God. Many people think this life here and now is the whole book. They see these years on

Before the Armenian Lord’s Prayer in the Church of the Pater Noster on the Mount of Olives, Jerusalem. We are living in heavy times. Wars. Rumors of wars. Images of suffering that stay in our minds long after we put our phones down. Countries are shaking. Families are worried. Many hearts feel restless. People are not only concerned about their own lives, but also about the kind of world we will leave for our children. If you’re not careful, the storm around you will try to b

This weekend, I am with our community in Dallas. Yesterday, Der Ghevond and I arrived early at St. Sarkis Church for the ACYOA youth game night. Before the others came, we picked up the ping-pong paddles and began to play. We didn’t keep score. We simply rallied the ball back and forth, enjoying the rhythm of the game. As we played, I started thinking about the difference between playing to win and playing for joy. When you keep score, everything changes. Every point matters.

At the Armenian Mekhitarist Monastery in Vienna, the fathers keep a special collection of old Armenian coins. Among them are five small medieval coins. On each coin are two simple Armenian letters: “ՍԲ”, which stand for “Holy.” The coins were known as “holy money.” These were not ordinary coins used for buying and selling anything. They were given to the poor. And they could be used only for food. Centuries ago, the Armenian Church had already found a way to protect the digni

In Vienna, I went to see and pray at the tomb of Ludwig van Beethoven. Beethoven has always been one of my favorite composers. I remember the first time I heard the 2nd movement of his “Emperor Concerto” performed live in Strasbourg by the Strasbourg Philharmonic Orchestra. It brought tears to my eyes. It felt as if strength and gentleness, struggle and victory, were all speaking directly to my soul. What amazes me most is that some of his greatest works were written after he

In Vienna, Austria, there is a church known as the final resting place of the former royal Habsburg family, called the Imperial Crypt (Kaisergruft). In the past, when a royal funeral arrived, the official procession would knock on the closed church door to be let in. From inside, a priest would ask, “Who is asking to enter?” A guard would reply, “His Apostolic Majesty, the Emperor.” The priest would answer, “I do not know him.” They would knock a second time. Again, the pries

Our Bishops’ Council in Austria has just concluded. For three days in Saint Pölten, bishops of the Armenian Church came together to pray, reflect on the current challenges facing the Armenian Church, and form a united and responsible position to defend the Church’s mission and preserve its internal unity. When bishops come together, it is easy for people to assume that it is about policies, resolutions, or public statements. But what I experienced was something much deeper. I

Back in 2017, when I was new to New York, I was driving to Brooklyn one afternoon and was about to enter the Brooklyn Tunnel. You know how sometimes they open the opposite side to ease traffic? The cones had been moved. The entrance looked open. It seemed convenient. So I started to drive in. But something didn’t feel right. It was too quiet. No cars. No movement. I slowed down. And then I heard a traffic controller shouting behind me, “Stop! Stop! Turn around! Come back!” I

Today I was on a flight to Vienna. Everything was smooth and peaceful, until suddenly it wasn’t. The plane hit turbulence. The aircraft began to shake. You could feel it in your seat. You could sense it in the cabin. People stopped talking. Some held their armrests a little tighter. Whenever that happens, the same thoughts pass through everyone’s mind: “Is everything okay? Are we safe?” What stayed with me was this: the pilot did not come over the speaker, sounding anxious. H

Love is what makes Lent from being a routine and turns it into a living encounter. Without love, Lent becomes a checklist, things we have to do, rules we have to follow. But when love is at the center, Lent becomes a journey of the heart.   Tomorrow we’ll step into the holy season of Great Lent, where we are called to increased Prayer, fasting, and generosity. They are not obligations forced upon us. They are pathways where love grows, deepens, and finds expression in our eve

Some of the most powerful moments in life happen while nothing seems to be happening. We live in a world that wants instant answers and quick results, but God often works in seasons of waiting. Waiting stretches our faith, deepens our trust, and teaches our hearts how to hope. Today, we celebrate the Feast of the Presentation of our Lord, the moment when the forty-day-old baby Jesus was brought to the temple by His mother, Mary, and Joseph. They came to fulfill the law, to of

In downtown Fort Lauderdale, there is a sculpture called “Thrive.” It’s impossible to miss. A towering female figure stands before you, split open, cracked, incomplete. She looks broken. Wounded. As if something has gone wrong. But when you look closer, inside the open space of her chest, there’s life, greenery, light, hope. What appears broken on the outside is the very place where life is flourishing. St. Paul says something very similar in his second letter to the Corinthi

Today, as we remember St. Leon (Ghevont) the priest and his companions, we recall their great faith and sacrifice, which shaped our history and kept the Armenian spirit alive through the centuries. On the eve of the Battle of Avarayr, St. Ghevont showed what true spiritual leadership looks like. He celebrated the Divine Liturgy, gave Holy Communion, and baptized those who had not yet been received into the Church. Then he gathered the people and delivered a powerful sermon. H

Have you ever held a glow stick? You can shake it. You can wave it around. You can admire its color. But no matter how much you move it, it won’t shine in the dark until you do one thing. You have to break it. Inside that glow stick are chemicals, separated from one another. They’re full of potential, but nothing happens until there’s a snap. When it breaks, what was hidden inside is released, and suddenly, in the darkness, it begins to glow. I believe that’s a picture of wha

There is something beautiful about light. When one candle lights another, nothing is lost. The flame does not weaken, the light does not diminish, and the warmth does not fade. Instead, the room becomes brighter. What once held shadows now begins to glow. Light multiplies simply by being shared. That’s how God designed your life to work. When you give love, you don’t lose love. When you offer kindness, encouragement, or hope, you don’t run out, you step into abundance. The mo

We all have moments in life when we feel a little cracked, a little worn, a little less than whole. Maybe life didn’t go the way you planned. Maybe someone hurt you, you made mistakes, you faced losses, disappointments, detours. The enemy wants you to believe that once you’re broken, you’re finished. That you’ve lost your value. That you’ll never shine again. But God doesn’t retire people because they’re broken; He redeems them. He doesn’t throw you away; He writes His master

Have you ever carried a backpack that slowly became heavier without you noticing? At first, it feels manageable. You keep walking, shifting it on your shoulders. But over time the weight presses down. Your steps slow. Your back tightens. Your breath shortens. What once felt light now feels unbearable, not because the backpack suddenly changed, but because you’ve been carrying it for too long. That’s how anxiety often works in our lives. It doesn’t arrive all at once. It build

Now that we are back in the United States, many have asked me what the pilgrimage to Jerusalem was like. I tell them it was a great joy to lead a beautiful group of people of deep faith and prayer, and to see them walk, pray, and support one another was truly moving. Their faith strengthened one another, and it strengthened me as well. As we walked through the Holy Land, one truth kept returning to my heart: from the very beginning of Scripture, faith is described as a walk.

At the St. Gregory the Illuminator Armenian Chapel, Church of the Holy Sepulchre, Jerusalem When you walk into the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem and walk down to the St. Gregory the Illuminator Armenian Chapel, you will notice hundreds of tiny carved crosses etched into the walls. They are called Pilgrim’s Crosses. Each cross was carved by a pilgrim who came from far away. Some walked for months. Some sold what they had. Some took risks we can hardly imagine. They came to stand