On Sunday, August 30, I celebrated the last Episcopal Badarak at St. Vartan Armenian Cathedral before its temporary closure for a comprehensive interior renovation. It was an emotional day for me and for our entire Cathedral community. These sacred walls hold generations of memories: baptisms and weddings, ordinations and funerals, joyful celebrations and quiet moments of prayer. Yet, in the language of faith, a last moment is often the beginning of something new. We are not

Last January, during our pilgrimage to Jerusalem, our group visited St. Savior Armenian Monastery and its cemetery. We walked quietly among the graves of people from every walk of life—the powerful and the weak, the wealthy and the poor, the celebrated and the unknown. Yet in that cemetery, all those differences had disappeared. Each person had become a name written on stone. Some stones were large and beautifully carved. Others were simple and modest. But every stone carried

These days, we are cleaning and emptying St. Vartan Cathedral before the renovation begins. The sanctuary itself is familiar, beautiful, and orderly. But behind the spaces everyone sees and downstairs in the basement are rooms filled with things that have accumulated over many years; boxes, papers, keys, furniture, and objects someone once thought might be useful. Renovation begins with emptying. The same is often true of the human heart. We all have hidden rooms where we pla