Yesterday I had the immense honor and blessing of celebrating Badarak at the Armenian Monastery of the Holy Cross on Akhtamar Island, surrounded by the blue waters of Lake Van. There, faith, history, and place came together in a way words cannot fully express. For more than 1,100 years, countless Badaraks have been celebrated within those sacred walls. Generations of priests have stood before that altar, and generations of faithful have offered their prayers there. We offere

Our boat cut across Lake Van this morning, headed for Akhtamar Island and the Monastery of the Holy Cross. Somewhere in the middle of that crossing, with water on every side, I found myself praying words written by a man who knew this lake far better than I ever will: St. Gregory of Narek. St. Gregory lived his whole life at the monastery of Narekavank, on the southern shore of this same lake. He watched it for years — calm some days, violent on others. Slowly, the lake becam

Growing up in Yerevan, Armenia, I could see Mount Ararat from the window of our apartment. Every day, it stood there majestic, silent, and seemingly close enough to touch. Yesterday, many years later, I stood with our pilgrims at the foot of Mount Ararat, this time from the other side. I was no longer looking through a window. The mountain that had filled the horizon of my childhood now rose directly before us. Standing there I thought about Noah and his family, about the flo