An Orthodox Father’s Epistle on Growing up Christian

A letter to my children on loving Christ, honoring their elders, and become helpers in a hurting world—with some help from Saint John Chrysostom.

NOTE: For various reasons‚ this Substack page has been fairly quiet in recent months—mostly due to personal and family health concerns, and the recent arrival of a baby girl to our family. I anticipate a very full 2026 here and with “Bad” Books of the Bible on Ancient Faith, and am glad to have you along for the journey—but I had to take a breather.

The following is a “pastoral” letter I wrote to my kids in the aftermath of our baby girl’s arrival, and is based in part on pastoral research I completed a couple of years ago for a master’s program at the Antiochian House of Studies. Our son is four years old, and our daughter is a mere two weeks old. My primary source for Chrysostom quotes is his Six Books on the Priesthood, trans. Graham Neville (Crestwood: St Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1984).

Expect regular, weekly content to return next week.

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Dearest Gregory and Alexandra,

Tonight the house is a strange harmony of sounds. Gregory, you are thumping toy cars across the coffee table and narrating entire universes under your breath. Alexandra, you are making those small newborn noises that are half‑sigh, half‑grunt, like you’re surprised to be here and perhaps a little delighted about it.

I wanted to put some words on the page for you—words gathered from Scripture, from St. John Chrysostom, from my own bruises and blessings. You will read this, God willing, when you are much older. For now, think of it as a kind of time‑capsule blessing from your dad, who loves you, and who is still learning the very things he’s trying to hand on.

Born into a Great Company

First, know this: you were both born into a great company. You are not alone in this mortal existence, but have been blessed with true traveling companions.

You have grandparents and godparents, cousins, and other relatives and friends who love you.

You have your patrons and heavenly intercessors—St. Gregory the Illuminator praying for you, my son; Saints Empress Alexandra and Sophia of Shamordino praying for you, my daughter; St. Benedict, whose name hides in our family name; the saints who watch over your mom and me—Saints Athanasius, James of Nisbis, Apollinaria of Egypt, John of Shanghai and San Francisco, and Saint Xenia of Saint Petersburg.

And you have your mother. Honor her. She has carried you, fed you, lost sleep for you, prayed for you with tears you will never see. The commandment to “honor your father and your mother” (Ex. 20:21) is the first one with a promise, and it is not just about being polite. It is about gratitude—learning to recognize the quiet, costly love that shaped you from the beginning. As you grow, listen to her, care for her, defend her, and when the time comes, be willing to return the care she lavished on you.

Honor, too, your grandparents and the elderly in general. Our culture often hides its elderly away, but Proverbs 16:31 says, “Gray hair is a crown of glory; it is gained in a righteous life.” Make space in your lives for the stories, sorrows, and hard‑won wisdom of those who have walked longer roads than you have. Stand up for them—literally and figuratively. Let the way you speak to your elders be marked by respect and tenderness—that will preach louder than a hundred insistent arguments.

Gregory, you were baptized into Christ and anointed in His name, and soon, Alexandra, you will be too. That means the deepest truth about you is not your talents or your failures, not your profession or your reputation. The deepest truth is that you belong to Jesus Christ. You are “little christs,” anointed ones, beloved children of God.

So whatever comes—success, confusion, heartbreak—you are never just a lone individual trying to survive. You are part of a communion. Lean into that. Let the Church, the saints, your mother and father, your elders, and the friends God gives you be your traveling companions in this life.

Remember the Suffering: Widows, Orphans, and the Poor

You were both born into a world that hurts.

When I was right in-between your ages, Grisha and Sasha, my own father died at thirty‑seven year old. My earliest memories are a strange blend of love and loss: the feeling of my mother rocking me in tears, the sight of my dad’s casket; warmth and grief tangled together in the same space. Your grandmother was a widow at thirty‑three with four children aged 2-13. There were many tears.

St. John Chrysostom knew this kind of pain. His father died when he was very young. His mother, Anthusa, spoke of widowhood as a “stormy sea” and an “iron furnace”—an unbearable sorrow she did not choose, but had to carry. His mama lamented to him that the death of her husband “left you an orphan and me a widow before my time, with all the burdens of widowhood, which only those who have borne them can properly understand.”

Some wounds can only be understood from the inside. Because of this, I want you to remember the sufferings of others—especially widows, orphans, and the poor. St. James (1:27) writes:

“Religion that is pure and undefiled before God the Father is this: to visit orphans and widows in their affliction, and to keep oneself unstained from the world.”

That’s not an optional extra. It is Christianity donning its working clothes.

You will meet people whose grief you cannot fix. Please don’t say, “I know exactly how you feel,” when you don’t (and even if you do). Don’t rush to reassure them, “God has a plan,” like a thin bandage slapped on a deep wound. Instead, say, “I am here. I care. I will listen.” Sometimes the most Christ‑like gift you can offer to others is your quiet, patient presence.

And remember the poor. Wisdom of Sirach 7:32 says: “Stretch out your hand to the poor, so that your blessing may be complete.” Chrysostom warns that “involuntary poverty is an insatiable evil”—it can embitter people, make them “querulous and unthankful.” When you help, don’t expect glowing reviews from those you serve. Give anyway. “Freely you have received; freely give” (Matthew 10:8).

Helping the poor, Chrysostom says, demands justice, wisdom, and forbearance. There will be complaints and misunderstandings. Some of the people you help will wound you. I have occasionally seen unkindness and ingratitude showered upon the helpers of the poor by the very poor who were being helped—which is why St. John Chrysostom says this: “But you must look for the possession of another quality as well, and that is forbearance, the source of all human blessings, which guides the soul to anchorage and escorts it into a fair haven.”

Fred Rogers told children to “look for the helpers” when the world looked scary. Chrysostom reminds the helpers not to be destroyed by accusations or ingratitude. Both are right.

Be those helpers.

Truth, Tradition, and a Dangerous Kindness

The faith you’ve received is not an idea your mother or I invented. It has been handed down—traditio—from Christ to the Apostles, from the Apostles to the Holy Fathers, from the Fathers through generations of ordinary Christians and rather extraordinary saints.

All of human learning is passed on person to person. Chrysostom says our best “teaching [is] by word of mouth”—it’s “the best instrument, the best diet, and the best climate.” We learn the faith at the kitchen table, in the nave, in the car on the way to school, from grandparents’ stories and priestly homilies and the pages of Scripture. We pass things on patiently by the exchange of ideas and the impartation of wisdom, and there is no substitute for a disciple-teacher model. This is true in the faith of the Church, and it is true in the ordinary realities of the world.

Because of that, truth matters. Heresy is not a clever alternative; it is cruelty. Misrepresenting God is like prescribing the wrong medicine to a sick patient. People can die from that. Do not let kindness cause you to forget the truth.

But still, be kind to those who are misled—but do not share in their errors. Jesus warns about “the leaven of the Pharisees,” because a small distortion can change the whole loaf (Luke 12:1-7). Chrysostom says there were many groups in his day “who bear the name of Christian,” but whose doctrines put them “beyond the pale of truth.”

Our age has its own myriad versions of religious ideas. You will meet people who want a Christianity without repentance, or without sacrament, or without the Incarnation, or without the Cross. Be gentle. Don’t bully. Our prayerful hope is that others may be “converted gently and gradually from the sins they commit” (in Chrysostom’s words).

But don’t trade the truth of Christ for the approval of anyone, even of people you love. This includes your papa. If I ever wander from the faith once delivered to the saints (Jude 1:3), your loyalty is to Christ and His Church, not to my opinions.

Leadership Without Ambition, Courage Without Fury

At some point in life, each of you will likely find yourself in positions of leadership—even if it’s just a circle of friends looking to you for what to do next. Chrysostom spends hundreds of pages describing the priesthood, but most of what he says applies to any kind of leader: parent, teacher, supervisor, advocate, pastor, podcaster, average Joe.

1. Beware Ambition

Ambition, he says, is a fire smoldering under the surface. Once it flares up, it’s hard to put out. A leader “must purify his soul entirely of ambition for the office,” or else he will endure all kinds of evil—flattery, compromise, cowardice—just to keep his position.

Wanting to do good work is holy. Wanting applause is dangerous. Let your main ambition be to please God and to love people, and hold every office lightly.

2. Master Your Temper

Nothing “muddies the purity of the mind” like a hot temper. An angry soul, Chrysostom says, is like a soldier fighting a night battle, striking wildly, unable to tell friend from foe.

You will feel anger. Some of it will be justified. The key is what you do next.

• Pause.

• Remember your own sins.

• Refuse to let anger drive the car.

If you do not learn this, your anger will devour you—and often the people you most love. Anger can destroy relationships, it can consume your time, and it can even make you sick or suffer mental maladies. It can become a poison—depending on the dose and duration.

When you feel angry, desperate, or grieved, you are in no position to discuss the important issues that led to such feelings, and no quick reaction will serve you well. Ephesians 4:26: “‘In your anger do not sin’: do not let the sun go down while you are still angry…”

3. Expect Criticism; Don’t Be Ruled by It

When a man or woman becomes visible, “even the most trivial faults get known,” and “a trifling and unimportant fault has often curtailed the glory of many fine achievements.” I have seen men I respected and admired throw it all away by a momentary mistake—decades of love and kindness can be wrecked for a lifetime, in only a few moments. Do not become a cautionary tale, my dear children.

Chrysostom compares public opinion to a “many‑headed savage monster.” If you chase praise, you’ll never rest. If you crumble under every critique, you’ll never move. “Let the best craftsman be the judge of his own handiwork,” he says. Let your conscience and your father confessor weigh your actions more than the crowd.

Do your work before the face of God—because it already is anyway. Don’t let likes, shares, or gossip steer your soul, and don’t be the cause of your own undoing.

Friendship That Can Survive Pain

One of my favorite parts of Chrysostom’s On the Priesthood is the friendship between him and St. Basil the Great. It seems obvious that they argue, forgive, disappoint each other, and still bear one another’s burdens.

Saint Basil tells him:

“I have made it a rule for myself… that I would never demand an explanation of any pain you might choose to cause me.”

That’s not a call to accept abuse; it’s a picture of deep loyalty. These are friends who know each other’s weaknesses, who can say, “You hurt me,” and at the same time, “I’m not going anywhere.”

I hope you will be that kind of sibling to one another. Gregory, cherish your little sister and look out for her. Alexandra, your big brother is already your most loyal friend—cultivate that relationship throughout life. Forgive quickly. Let love “cover a multitude of sins,” as St. Peter says (1 Ptr. 4:8). And may God give you true friends in the wider world who will stand with you in a similar way—be that kind of friend to them, too.

Friendship also means sometimes saying “no.” Chrysostom disappointed Basil when he refused certain honors. Life is finite; you cannot say yes to every invitation, even from people you love. Learn to tell the truth kindly, to set boundaries without bitterness.

And I Repeat…

Honor all your loved ones, living or dead—but live for the living. We sit with our loved ones and talk with them, we take interest in their lives. We care, because they loved us into being and made us who we are.

Remember especially your mother, Polina—always remember your mother and her well being. Care for her in her old age, but do not neglect her or take her for granted for even a single day, if you can help it. Think of her often when you are away, and when you feel alone, remember the love she has for you—a love that was knit together in her heart, while you were knit together by God’s hand in her womb (Ps. 139:13). They say that in marriage—like the first pair, Adam and Eve—man and woman become “bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh” (Gen. 2:23).

But never is that more literally true than in the fruit of the womb—you are flesh and bone derived from your parents, but especially you are bone of your mother’s bone. This is why St. John’s mama pointed out that even if he had a thousand friends, “there is nobody who cares for your reputation as I do.”

Even God himself, in becoming man, took on flesh from a woman’s womb, and now God has become bone of her bone, and flesh of her flesh—this is why we can be saved, this is why we can experience the divine life that produces theosis in us. A thousand disciples could never know what the most holy Theotokos and ever-virgin Mary knew of God, and so a good mother’s love for her child is among the greatest of loves in all of creation.

Let it be said again: A faithful son remains kind to his mother all of her days, which is why Chrysostom’s mother begs him to be near until her death, rather than to leave her alone in this life. “Be patient till my death,” she instructs him.

“It may be I shall depart before long. Those who are young look forward to a distant old age; but we who have grown old have nothing to wait for but death.”

Stark words, but certainly representative of how many people think of their experience. “Love is watching someone die,” writes the poet, because love is sometimes manifested simply by being with someone at the end.

Which brings me back to one of the main things in this life: repentance. “This life has been given to you for repentance; do not waste it in vain pursuits,” says St. Isaac the Syrian. All people are called by God to repentance, and even those who have become friends of God must continually walk the path of repentance. The Church is not always led well by her ministers or is exhibited properly in the actions of her people, and there have been periods in Church history that were quite dark. But Jesus promised his faithful who follow him that we shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life (John 8:12).

“Keep a close watch on yourself and on the teaching,” St. Paul instructed Timothy. “Persist in this, for by so doing you will save both yourself and your hearers” (1 Timothy 4:16). St. John Chrysostom warns: “Christians damage Christ’s cause more than his enemies and foes. But the good Lord still shows his kindness and calls us to repentance”—yes, repentance is for the believer, too.

We must remember this, and we must be personally open to correction.

A Final Word From Your Dad

Малыши (malyshi - little children), by the time you read this, you may already have learned that your dad is far from a perfect man. I have my own griefs, sins, failings, and foolish detours. You will see some of those up close—may God forbid you mirror them. I pray you also see some repentance exhibited in my life.

Resist hot-headedness and selfish ambition; be kind to all; stand up for the weak and mistreated; be a good friend; and remember the people who have loved you. If I can leave you with a short list, it would be this:

• Love Christ and His Church more than you love being right.

• Honor your mother, your elders, and those who have sacrificed for you.

• Remember the suffering and the poor; be one of the helpers.

• Guard the faith you’ve received; don’t trade it for trends.

• Keep watch over your own heart—your temper, your desires, your craving for applause, and your own weaknesses.

• Be loyal, gentle friends to each other and to the people God gives you.

And know, in all of it, that you are more loved than you can possibly understand—by your mom and me, by your grandparents and godparents, by the saints, and above all by the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.

My dearest Gregory and Alexandra, so much more could be said, and if the Lord gives me enough years of breath, I will impart many important lessons to you long before you read this letter. But if he does not grant me this desire of my heart, then you will have these words of mine to read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest for as long as you are willing to consider them.

If I am alive when you read this, know that I am praying for you. If I have fallen asleep in the Lord, I will still be praying for you then, too, in ways I can’t fully describe now.

Archbishop John Shahovsky wrote:

“The whole span of a man’s life may be compared to a plot of ground. His duty is not idly to lie on this God-given ground but to cultivate it, to make the most of the life given into his stewardship as a token of a better life, better soil.”

I love you, my dear ones. And even if you are unable to live out these ideals, I will not love you any less. I could not be more grateful to God for giving me the opportunity to be your daddy, and I pray for the strength to lead you well.

Pray for me, and pray for your loved ones—it is such a precious gift given to us, as it connects us with God, with each other, and with the whole cosmos.

To paraphrase the conclusion of St. Paul’s second letter to the Thessalonians, now may the God of peace himself bestow upon you peace, in every way and at all times, that you may know that the Lord is with you. I, your father, write this message myself. The grace of our Lord God and Savior Jesus Christ be with you this day and evermore.

With all my love,

Papa

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Here’s a little something extra—it’s a song I made with my group Royal Ruckus for Gregory: