My grandfather, Zhirayr Parsamyan, was a survivor of the Armenian Genocide. He lost his father during those dark days, and with his mother and two brothers, he found refuge in Thessaloniki. Life there was not easy. They lived with hardship, poverty, and the pain of being uprooted from their homeland. Then, in 1935, he made his way to Eastern Armenia. And do you know what he did first? He went to Holy Etchmiadzin, the Mother Cathedral of All Armenians, he lit a candle and offe

Today, on April 24 we remember the martyrs of the Armenian Genocide, who remained faithful to God even unto death. We remember lives uprooted, homes emptied, churches silenced, and countless faithful souls who carried the name of Christ on their lips to the very end. And on this day, the words of our Lord come to us with special depth: “Unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” (John 12:24). A

There is a small drawing that has traveled farther than most masterpieces. It hangs in homes, in hospitals, in churches. The “Praying Hands” by Albrecht Dürer. Two simple hands, folded in prayer. No grand landscape in the background. Just hands lifted to God. At first glance, it seems almost too simple. But the longer you look, the more you see. The veins are visible. The fingers are slightly worn. They are hands that have worked, carried weight, hands that know effort and fa