By Fr. Michael Psaromatis
Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of Australia
On Holy Ascension, the Lord, risen from the dead, takes our humanity into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father. It is a feast of glory, but also a feast that teaches us how to wait. Christ tells His disciples to return to Jerusalem and wait. No timeline. No detailed answers. No emotional comfort. Just a promise that the Holy Spirit will come, and a command to trust.
St. John Chrysostom reminds us that, “When He ascended in the flesh to heaven, He did not withdraw His providence from the world, but rather gave His Spirit to be with us until the end.” Waiting, then, is not abandonment. It is preparation. It is communion by faith.
That kind of waiting, that kind of surrender, does not sit well with most people today. Especially not with younger adults. Many have grown up in a world that constantly tells them their feelings are the ultimate authority, that their opinions are truth, and that anything which challenges their emotions is a threat. They are not just impatient. They are reactive. Often, they are offended when life or others do not immediately meet their expectations.
But to be fair, they did not create this problem. This generation did not build this kind of world. They were born into it. They inherited a society shaped by unchecked technological growth, the arrogance of previous generations, and a culture that has tried to keep up with every new trend and idea without offering any stable foundation. Technology has promised everything—speed, recognition, convenience, and connection—but it has delivered something else entirely. It has created chaos.
St. Maximus the Confessor once warned, “Those who are not trained by patience become slaves to their passions.” It has formed habits and expectations that most people are neither emotionally nor spiritually equipped to handle. And when those expectations fail to satisfy, many do not turn to prayer or repentance. Instead, they turn outward with blame, or inward with anxiety and despair.
As St. John Climacus observes in The Ladder of Divine Ascent, “Despair is the final offspring of pride.”
This generation is often labelled as soft or entitled. And yes, in many cases that is true. But we must also recognise the deeper story. These young people are the result of a world spinning faster than the soul can process. Even the generations before them bear responsibility. Many handed down the tools of technology without handing down the wisdom to use them well. Many refused to admit their own pride or blind spots and now criticise the confusion they helped create. Society, in its attempt to adapt to every new thing, has abandoned the idea of truth that stays the same. It has lost the ability to provide stability. Instead of grounding the young, it has made them feel like the ground is always shifting beneath them.
So now we have a generation that struggles to sit in silence, that cannot handle being left without a response, and that falls apart when things do not go as planned. They crave attention and affirmation. They expect things quickly. And when they do not get what they want, they take it personally. What we are really dealing with is not just emotional fragility, but egos that have not been taught how to die.
As St. Isaac the Syrian writes, “He who does not voluntarily humble himself will be humiliated by circumstances.” People who are used to controlling everything through a screen are now struggling to accept that life cannot be controlled in the same way.
I have heard people say to me, “Father, you are too harsh on this generation,” or, “Father, we are afraid to be too strong in our parenting because we do not want to push them away.” I understand that fear. But I also need to say what many are thinking and few are willing to voice clearly. I feel that we are being held at ransom by the behaviour of this generation. We are afraid to speak the truth. We are afraid to draw lines or give correction because we fear the emotional backlash. We are not leading anymore. We are reacting. And that is not love. That is fear dressed up as compassion.
“It is better to be hated for the truth,” St. Jerome once said, “than to be loved for flattery.”
We are raising, or watching others raise, young people who do not know how to be told no. Who think every negative emotion must be avoided or immediately solved. Who assume that love always feels good. But love does not always feel good. Love tells the truth. Love leaves space for silence. Christ loved His disciples enough to leave them. To ascend. To not answer every question. Not because He was abandoning them, but because He was forming them. Preparing them for something greater than what they could grasp in the moment.
“If you love someone,” writes St. Theophan the Recluse, “do not always comfort them, but teach them the hard way of the Cross.”
We need to reclaim that in our homes, in our parishes and in our own hearts. We need to stop fearing the emotional reactions of our children and start fearing what will happen to them if we do not teach them how to wait, how to endure and how to be still. We need to stop letting the culture raise our children and reclaim our God-given duty to guide them. That means telling them the truth even when they do not want to hear it. That means letting them sit in discomfort without rushing to fix it. That means teaching them to trust God even when He seems silent.
“Silence,” says St. Isaac the Syrian, “is the mystery of the age to come, but words are the instruments of this world.”
We need to teach them how to suffer a little. Not because we enjoy watching them suffer, but because suffering with Christ is how we grow. Maturity is not measured by how much we feel, but by how we respond when things do not go our way. If you cannot handle being told no, if you cannot wait for a reply, if you collapse every time someone disagrees with you, then you are not ready for the weight of the cross, let alone the joy of the resurrection.
“No one can ascend to heaven,” says St. Gregory the Theologian, “unless he first crucify himself to the world.”
However, if we are not willing to humble ourselves through genuine sacrifice and continual repentance, and if Christ is not truly at the centre of our lives, then it will be impossible to pass on any of this to the next generation.
“First be yourself what you wish to teach others,” urges St. Cyril of Jerusalem.
We cannot teach what we ourselves refuse to live. If we are not actively striving to embody the Gospel in our own homes, in our choices, in our speech, and in the way we deal with failure, then our words will carry little weight. It begins with us acknowledging our own faults, owning our shortcomings, and allowing Christ to transform us from within.
The call to discipleship is not only for them. It is for us. When our children, or those entrusted to us spiritually, see us struggle with repentance, seek forgiveness, and return to Christ with sincerity, they will understand what it means to walk the path of faith. That living example will speak louder than any instruction ever could.
“The best teaching,” said St. John Chrysostom, “is a virtuous life.”
There is always hope, of course. This generation is not beyond saving. They are hungry. They are searching. But we need to stop feeding them empty affirmations and start giving them truth. We need to give them Christ. We need to tell them that silence is not the same as rejection. That waiting does not mean they have been forgotten. That the absence of a response is sometimes the way God gets our attention.
Christ has not abandoned this generation. He is calling them deeper. But they will not hear that call if we are too afraid to correct them, too hesitant to draw boundaries, or too focused on keeping peace at the cost of their souls. We cannot let their emotions become our master. We cannot allow their reactions to govern our mission. We are not here to please them. We are here to love them. And sometimes love means letting them be uncomfortable so they can grow.
Christ is ascended. He is not far away. He is reigning. And He is still forming us. Let us rise with Him. But first, let us learn to wait. Let us teach this generation not to panic in silence, not to demand control, but to trust in the God who never leaves us, even when we cannot see Him.
Let us be faithful. Let us stop being afraid. The Holy Spirit is coming. May He find us ready.
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Fr Michael is a priest of the Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of Australia. He has studied Information Technology, Modern Greek, and Theology at Flinders University. With a deep love for music, theology, and arts Fr Michael brings a dynamism to his ministry.
His 13 year ministry has included service in aged care, the youth, regional communities, and meeting the needs of busy Parishes with Presvytera Stavroula.
Fr Michael is also actively involved in Orthodox missionary outreach in the Pacific, particularly in Fiji. He has spent time in the region serving liturgy, engaging with local communities, and working towards the development of the mission.
He is currently serving at the Parish of St Dimitrios, Salisbury, in South Australia.
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