parables of a prodigal world

My grandmother and grandfather used to tell me the story of how they were each the sole remaining survivor of their individual families subsequent to the Armenian Genocide of 1915 . They grew up in the same orphanage, and were eventually married. I grew up hearing those stories. Everybody Armenian kid I knew heard similar stories from their grandparents. Those stories defined us, quite literally. Those stories were good enough for us. But they're haven't been good enough for the world... Until now?... It's time... Grace and Peace, Raffi

I am writing this, with much fear and trembling, for the January Synchroblog on the subject of "Faith and Ethnicity." Faith. Ethnicity. Faith and Ethnicity. Big topics. HUGE. What do I do when faced with big topics and a small space to address them? I tell stories. This one's a long story, mind you, but still radically condensed from how it could be told. It is not meant to be a final word on faith and ethnicity. It might not even be a word on faith-and-ethnicity. It is simply a story that incorporates the themes of faith, ethnicity, but also brokenness, love, redemption and some other miscellaneous topics. It is a true story. It is an unfinished story. I share it with you, like I said, in fear and trembling...and faith. My wife and I recently went into an Armenian-owned shop and we got to speaking to the owner about the various Armenian private schools in the city. The owner gave us her opinion as to which school was the best. The basis for her opinion was as follows: “...