5 Pieces of Advice Worth Holding on to

5 Pieces of Advice Worth Holding on to

Of these five pieces of advice I have here, four were from a teacher I had my senior year in high school and one is from my father. I’m going to give the pieces of advice then a couple sentences on what they have meant to me the last four years.

 

Commit beautiful things to memory.

 

This could be Scripture verses, poetry, snippets of books, quotes from people you love, or just good sayings to have at the tip of your tongue. I’ve personally done this with poetry more than anything else. (Email me if you want suggestions.) Our words are very powerful things. They shape us as much as we shape them. I think this piece of advice also means that you should always keep an eye out for beautiful things. Speaking from experience, it really is amazing how much beauty can be captured and dwelt in in the words we use. It’s probably a good idea to look to the greatest users of words so that we can get better at using them ourselves.

 

Notice what the people around you find funny.

 

Anyone who knows me in person will know that this is something I do all the time and love doing. The ability to make others laugh and laugh with them is the fastest bonding experience I have ever felt. This doesn’t necessarily come naturally to everyone, admittedly, but I believe it’s a form of love that can and should be practiced more. Similar to the piece of advice stated above, if you keep your eyes and ears (and heart) oriented towards loving the world and others, things that cause and engender laughter will develop out of them naturally, given time and patience.

 

Recognize that it takes a long, long time to make good friends.

 

One of the things that makes my best friend my best friend is that we have been going to school together for 10 years: 6 years in middle school and high school, and now 4 years of college. This piece of advice has helped me get through arguments with him, because I know that arguments and problems come with time. As it turned out, those arguments and problems that have arisen between us have actually brought us closer together. I hope he would say the same. No matter if we go separate ways after graduation, I know that I will always be greeted with a firm handshake and a pleasant hug with a laugh at times past and times to come.

 

Come back.

 

On the sheet my teacher gave us one of the last days my senior year, this was one of the last pieces of advice. My teacher grew up in Kansas, went to college in Michigan, taught for a few years in Minnesota, and has been living in Indiana for a few years now. He’s no stranger to home and all the various ways it manifests itself over the course of a young person’s life; home changes for all of us. For some of us, it’s tied to a specific location, for others, family, for others still, the smell of a city or farm brings us back to some mysterious childhood we forgot we had. In this piece of advice, I hear my teacher telling me to not only think about coming back home, but I also hear him telling me to think about how I carry home with me inside my heart and how I should try and return to that as much as I should return to all the homes I’ll make over the course of my life.

 

Say okay.

 

This piece of advice from my dad I heard over and over again from the ages of 6 to 16. I needed to hear these two words as a toddler and young boy, especially regarding dinner, baths, and bedtime as well as apologies to my siblings and my mom. I mean, who among us didn’t hear this over and over when we were young? The older I got, the less I heard my dad say it explicitly, but the more I heard him say it implicitly in his actions and in his love for me. It was first used to correct and discipline me, and then it was used to teach and instruct me. I have learned that to “say okay” once is to be obedient, but to always “say okay” is to learn how to accept things as they come with grace and fortitude, much like my dad has sought to do, even if he isn’t always certain things are okay.

Andrew Gluntz

Marcus Lotti

Podcast Student Leader

I am a senior English major at Hillsdale College in Hillsdale, Michigan. When not leading my small but mighty OCF, hosting dinner parties, studying in the library, making playlists, running, or spending time in church, I am busy creating the worst dad jokes you can possibly imagine. As a senior, I spend plenty of time reminiscing and thinking about the many ways OCF has shaped my college experience. The only piece of advice I feel fully qualified to give is to cherish the OCF friends you have made or will make. You’ll definitely hear me say that a lot on my podcast The Fourth Antiphon, to be found on Ancient Faith Radio as well as Spotify, Apple Music, and wherever you find your podcasts!

Of Incense and Thank You Cards

Of Incense and Thank You Cards

If my life came with a pack of thank you cards, I would have sent them all by now. One for my father and his steady reassurance in every circumstance. One for my aunt, with her welcoming kitchen and mugs of tea. Two for my best friend and the way she makes me laugh, and the list goes on. If I had thank you cards for my gratitude I would have stuffed so many envelopes by now that USPS would dread stopping at my mailbox. 

And yet, as easy as it is for me to show my thanks to the people I love, I often find myself caught on the idea of writing a thank you note to God. How do I pour nineteen years worth of gratitude for all the joys and sorrows of my life into a 4×6 card? And even if I could, how do I get past the fact that my prayer is too insignificant – that my miniscule act of praise is not enough, that even though my cup runneth over, it is too messy to put a stamp on and mail to God? 

When I am overwhelmed with thoughts like these, I think of the second verse of Psalm 140.

 “Let my prayer arise before thy sight as incense, and let the lifting up of my hands be an evening sacrifice.” (Psalm 140:2 OSB)

While prayer and sacrifice may seem entirely unrelated to gratitude, they hold more in common than you might think. As Orthodox Christians, we know that thankfulness is ultimately demonstrated in sacrificial love. We see this in the Gospel reading from this past Sunday (Luke 12:16-21).

In Sunday’s reading, we hear Christ tell his disciples a parable of the man who, after seeing how plentiful the yield of his crops is, decides to tear down his barns and build even larger ones so that he can store up all his grain. In other words, the farmer chooses to celebrate the plentitude of the crops all by himself. He fails to recognize that his grain is a gift from God and that the purpose of a gift is to share it. Instead of showing gratitude for his gift by distributing it to others and sacrificing the wealth that he has accumulated, the farmer holds on to his goods tighter than ever. 

Like the farmer, I often find myself failing to show proper gratitude for the gifts I have been given. More often than not, I am unwilling to share my gifts with others. I would rather keep to myself, orbiting around what I’ve been given by God. 

Yet as St. Basil tells us in his homily on the parable of the farmer and his barns, “You have been made a minister of God’s goodness, a steward of your fellow servants. Do not suppose that all this was furnished for your own gullet! Resolve to treat the things in your possession as belonging to others.” Though it is easy to be selfish, to put on a pair of blinders and view achievements as solely our own or focus on the benefits that we alone can reap from what God has given us, we are called to give thanks for what we have been given by sacrificing it for others — by opening our barns and celebrating the good things God has given us. 

I may not know how to write a thank you card to God, but reading the earlier verse from Psalm 140 through the lens of this week’s Gospel lesson makes the answer crystal clear.  The way to thank God for the gifts he has given me is by lifting up my hands in sacrifice — lifting my hands and reaching out to give what I have been given back to God. Christ shines through each and every one of us. Every sacrifice we make to the world whether it be time, money, or the smallest kindness swirls before God’s eyes like rose-scented smoke on Sunday morning.

So when I begin to close in on how I compare to the people around me — when I want to close the doors and count my gifts, grain by grain, I am reminded that this is no evening sacrifice. When I forget the incense of my actions, when I hang my head instead of lifting up my hands, then I am reminded of the celebration that comes with giving thanks. It is then that I push open my heart and treat people with kindness, as living icons of Christ. Only then can I watch my actions turn into incense, and lift my life up as an evening sacrifice.

Andrew Gluntz

Catherine Thompson

Student at Seattle Pacific University

I am a second-year student at Seattle Pacific University with a major in sociology. When I’m not sending letters to my friends, you can find me serving as a student leader in my dorm, re-reading my favorite books, or wading through the Seattle rain. It’s an honor to be an OCF student!

With Great Love

With Great Love

Growing up in the church, I thought I had an understanding of the basics of my religion. I understood that Sunday activities included attending church and receiving Holy Communion. To me, these seemed to be straightforward and doable tasks that made me an Orthodox Christian. My religious routine consisted of going to Confession once every few weeks and attending church every Sunday to be prepared to take Holy Communion. Naively, throughout the week I wouldn’t think too much about church until the following Saturday night as I picked out my clothes for that Sunday morning. As I began talking to more priests, reading about the lives of the saints, and participating in different church services, I started to sense that there was a large piece missing from my spiritual life. It almost felt as if I were in class, listening to lectures and understanding the material, but when I went home I couldn’t complete the homework. I never understood why I felt this disconnect until I attended my first YES (Youth Equipped to Serve) trip. YES taught me the importance of taking home the liturgical lessons and practicing them in my daily life. It helped me to understand what it meant to “serve” Christ throughout our daily lives. It brought Christ’s written words to life. I understood quickly what serving Christ through “word and deed” truly meant.  

I thought service was something that must be planned for and organized — something that always included a transfer between one group who had something to another group who did not. Over the years, I have learned that servant leaders don’t just give tangible things but are those who are capable of creating Kingdom moments. When I say Kingdom moments, I am referring to moments where we see the Kingdom of God breaking into this world. How do we even do that? It occurs in the seemingly simple act of thinking outside of oneself and being aware of what is most needed from you in any given situation. It is important to remember that this is not always done by sharing money, clothes, or food, but can be done in the form of spending time, sharing a smile, conversation, or even simply holding the door open for someone. In essence, it is to recognize the human soul in front of us.

We should all strive to be servant leaders with the intention of delivering Christ’s love through our working hands and hearts, not out of a desire to be recognized by others. At the very core of any service is love; love for the church and love for your neighbor. We serve not from our pride or ego, but from our hearts. Christ, who loves us, gives us the ability to love others — which naturally looks different in each situation and is unique to each person.

Attending church teaches us how we should interact with the world around us — through our service. Sometimes we don’t see the fruit from the seeds of love we sow, but we must make sure to leave those seeds every chance we get. In college, it can be hard to always get to church, especially right now. However, it’s simple to bring love in small ways to those around us. It is these small ways that allow for moments where the world shines as God created it. As Mother Teresa tells us, may we take every small action and do it with great love. This is how we can truly live out our faith.

Andrew Gluntz

Wadeed Fakhoury

My name is Wadeed Fakhoury. I am in my third year studying Mechanical Engineering at George Mason University. I love seeing people and talking with them, and watching and playing sports! I have been involved with YES for many years and have learned and grown so much from my experience. I am also a member of the OCF at George Mason University and was a District Leader for Virginia!

Permission to Struggle

Permission to Struggle

It’s been some years since I went off to college, but those intense memories of the first time away from home and newly found independence are burned into my mind. I was in a suite with 5 other guys – young men who came from all walks of life with all kinds of different perspectives. I remember we found each other on Facebook with our new accounts —- back when you couldn’t get on Facebook until you had an official college email. We worked together before we had even met to pitch in for a TV and other goodies for our suite. I could go on and on about my experiences and memories from going off to college for the first time at Binghamton University, but what I really remember was my fear of struggle.

I was confident I could make friends. I was confident I could handle the courses. I was confident I could manage my time. I believed in myself, and I put a lot of stock in that belief.

The problem was, once I got to college, I struggled.

Of course I did, right? I mean how else could it have been? Who has ever gone off to college and just checked all the boxes on the way to their degree?

But, to be totally honest, I wasn’t OK with struggling. I had the Yoda “do or do not, there is no try” mentality, and I had convinced myself that my struggles were a failure. Can’t figure out what to do on your first Friday night at college, even though you thought you had just made great friends in your suite and that you’d all hang out together? Failure. Promised yourself you’d keep up with all of your homework and readings, but you didn’t even keep up through the first week? Failure. Missed callbacks on that acappella group you were so excited to join because you didn’t read the flyer all the way through? Failure.

What do you do when you’re told to be successful, but you’ve already failed?

You drop that entire binary mindset, and you struggle, of course.

In Paul’s Second Letter to the Corinthians, we hear about his struggles. Paul writes “…as servants of God we commend ourselves in every way: through great endurance, in afflictions, hardships, calamities, beatings, imprisonments, tumults, labors, watching, hunger…” (2 Corinthians 6:4-5 RSV) in an effort to convey not his virtues, as we would have seen in Greek texts of the time, but his struggles. It is an incredibly Christian thing to boast in our struggles.

Though, to this college freshman, that feeling of struggle felt so insignificant compared to the others in the world. What do I have to complain about when others have it so much more difficult?

This is where if I could go back and talk to myself, I would offer one piece of advice. The smaller struggles train you for the bigger struggles. Asking for help connecting with new friends and enduring the struggle to navigate those relationships would have helped me ask my TA to assist me in understanding the Chemistry course I was already struggling to keep up with. Asking my TA to help me with Chemistry would have encouraged me to talk to my advisor about balancing my course load by taking Calc II over the summer. Asking my advisor to help me with my course load would have led me to ask my priest why I was struggling to connect with my faith while living on campus with no Orthodox Christian peers.

Learning to struggle teaches us to ask for help. Asking for help teaches us humility. Through struggle, even with the small things, we build the skills necessary to grow. When we accept struggle as a central component of our lives as Orthodox Christians, we will find ourselves in a pattern of growth that will train us for a life full of struggle, and ultimately, toward eternity.

If you learn to embrace struggle and to ask for help while you’re in college, you won’t be surprised when your first job points out your flaws. You won’t be surprised when you’ve found “the one,” but marriage turns out to be a lot more work than Disney had promised. You won’t be surprised when your newborn son loves to sleep when he wants to but loves to party when you’re trying to sleep. So embrace your struggle. Ask for help. Always remember that our job is not to live a perfect life, but a life of constant effort – constant struggle – in repentance toward Christ.

Andrew Gluntz

Fr. Niko Tzetzis

Great Lakes Regional Spiritual Advisor

Fr. Niko is the associate priest at Holy Trinity – St. Nicholas Greek Orthodox Church in Cincinnati, Ohio and the Regional Spiritual Advisor for the Great Lakes region of OCF. Fr. Niko was ordained to the priesthood recently, in September of 2020, and he and Presvytera Ivey welcomed their son Tommy into the world this past summer.

Making “One Story” Decisions

Making “One Story” Decisions

This October, we have been able to learn through Orthodox Awareness Month that OCF has four pillars it builds its ministry around. One of these pillars is “education.” Throughout my four years in OCF I had steadfast support in learning more about our faith, myself, and the world. I’d like to focus on a specific experience I find relevant this month with the impending election (don’t worry, I won’t tell you who to vote for).

This past March I went on Real Break Romania — an alternative spring break trip where we served the people living at Pro Vita — a large village that functions as an orphanage and a refuge for the “othered” from society. While we were there, we learned about the rule of a certain communist regime in Romania and the lasting impact it has had — on the lives of the people we were interacting with, the country as a whole, and Orthodoxy in Romania. Children were abandoned in cribs in institutional orphanages with limited human interaction. People who were physically disabled were thrown aside and left to die. Christians were tortured and killed, including clergy, for teaching to “seek first the kingdom of God,” because it was subversive to the state. Despite this, people were lowered into courtyards on bedsheets to hear priests speak, unshakably holding on to their faith.

How can we use the knowledge gained from encounters such as this, to seek first the kingdom of God with vigor? Recently, I have been re-reading a book I originally heard about at an OCF retreat, titled Everywhere Present by Fr. Stephen Freeman. In this book, Fr. Stephen explains that many Christians who live in the West (including Orthodox Christians) perceive the world as a “two-story” universe. In other words, western Christians think that we live “down here” on the first floor, and God lives “up there” on the second floor, only coming down to interact with us sometimes. However, Fr. Stephen calls us to reform our worldview so that we understand the truth taught by the Orthodox Church — that the universe is all “one story,” and that God, the saints, and the departed are fully alive in Christ right here on this same floor with us. The message of God and His kingdom is everywhere and filling all things!

This understanding outlined in Everywhere Present adds an extra weight to certain verses of Scripture, including: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!” (Matthew 3:3 NKJV) As Orthodox Christians, we should understand that everyone we interact with — an orphaned child, disabled man, someone who has wronged us, even politicians we may disagree with — is an image of Christ, handmade by God. No matter how muddied that image may become, it is still there. 

To this end, we should try to make sure that our souls are not sleeping, especially in times of strife and division. Christ calls us all to one communion — and to love one another, regardless of affiliations or wrongdoings. “There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is neither male nor female; for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” (Galatians 3:28 NKJV) I challenge you this political cycle to find common ground with people you disagree with and to remember that we all live in a one-story universe.

Awaken your soul. Pray for the whole world, pray particularly for your enemies (and if you’re struggling with genuinely desiring good for them, ask the Lord to help you humble yourself). Seek first the kingdom of Heaven, and place your trust only in Christ our Savior. One way to start doing this is to get involved with your local OCF chapter and national events. You will receive abundantly, in education, fellowship, service, and worship.

Andrew Gluntz

Demetra Chiafos

OCF Alumna

My name is Demetra Chiafos! I was involved in OCF during my four years at The Ohio State University, serving on the student officer board for three years at OSU and participating in national events. I graduated in 2020 with a BFA in Dance and a BA in Japanese. I am currently teaching dance while completing my MA in Translation (Japanese) through SOAS University of London. I play piano and cello, and sing in church choir whenever I can!

Blog banner photo taken by Ben Gluntz