Honoring our Elders in a Youth-Obsessed World

Have you ever noticed how birthday cards change as we age? In our twenties, they celebrate our youth and potential. By forty, they're making jokes about being "over the hill." Visit any drugstore, and you'll find aisles dedicated to anti-aging creams, hair dyes to cover gray, and supplements promising to turn back the clock. We live in a world that spends billions of dollars annually trying to look younger, act younger, be younger. But what if this desperate chase after youth is actually robbing us of something far more valuable?

Our “American Idols” can’t even compete if they’re over a certain age. Our pop stars lose their cultural steam not because their talent fades, but because their bodies and complexion change. In business, our addictive pursuit of “human progress” prioritizes youth—those on the “cutting edge.” No doubt, young people have a lot to offer in their station of life. But are we missing something necessary when we prioritize the progress of the youth over the prudence that comes with age and experience?

I remember once when I was a child, sitting on the couch as I watched my great-grandmother sort through old photographs. Her weathered hands, marked by age spots and prominent veins, carefully handled each memory. She even had a crooked finger—and it came with a story that carried the wisdom of a lived, painful experience. Those same hands had kneaded bread through the Great Depression, held my grandmother as a baby, my mother after her, and me, too. Those hands, crooked finger and all, folded in prayer through countless trials. I’ve reflected recently, thinking back on that memory, how our culture would call those hands "unsightly" and recommend expensive treatments to make them appear younger. A surgery to fix that crooked knuckle—that probably gave her pain she never showed. Yet to me, while I probably didn’t see it at the time, those were beautiful hands—each line and spot a testament to a life fully lived, a faith deeply tested, and wisdom hard-won.

 

The Ancient Path We've Abandoned

Scripture presents a radically different view of aging than our contemporary culture. The Book of Proverbs declares, "Gray hair is a crown of glory; it is gained in a righteous life" (Proverbs 16:31, ESV). The Hebrew word used here for "crown" (atarah) refers to a royal diadem, suggesting that age brings a kind of nobility that youth cannot possess. This isn't mere sentiment; it's a theological truth rooted in the very structure of creation.

In Leviticus, we find a direct command: "You shall stand up before the gray head and honor the face of an old man, and you shall fear your God: I am the LORD" (Leviticus 19:32, ESV). Notice how honoring the elderly is directly connected to fearing God. The Hebrew verb hadar, translated as "honor," means to show preference, to beautify, to glorify. It's the same root used to describe the glory and majesty of God Himself. When we honor our elders, we participate in something sacred.

The early church fathers understood this deeply. John Chrysostom, writing in the fourth century, observed: "The hoary head is not revered because it is white, but because it is a sign of virtue. For if it were merely white hair that brought honor, then wool would be more honorable than an aged person" (Homilies on Matthew, 71.3). His point is profound: age itself isn't magical, but when combined with faith and virtue, it produces something our youth-obsessed culture desperately needs—wisdom.

 

The Folly of Youth Worship

Our modern idolization of youth isn't just misguided; it's spiritually dangerous. When we value energy over experience, potential over proven character, and smooth skin over spiritual maturity, we cut ourselves off from the very sources of wisdom that could guide us through life's complexities.

Consider Silicon Valley's notorious ageism, where workers over forty often find themselves pushed aside for younger employees. The tech industry's motto of "move fast and break things" epitomizes a youth-centered worldview that values innovation over wisdom, disruption over tradition. But what has this given us? Social media platforms that fragment communities, technologies that isolate rather than connect, and a generation more anxious and depressed than any before it. Perhaps if we had more gray-haired voices in those boardrooms, asking not just "can we?" but "should we?", our technological revolution might have produced more humane outcomes.

Of course, not everyone is wise purely on account of age. It’s not merely “years passed” that nurture wisdom, but years in pursuit of the sacred, decades to learn lessons often the “hard way,” and the experience of counting one’s blessings from God that make the difference.

Because we all know there are exceptions to the rule. We know grumpy old men and foolish ladies who are bitter about their state in life. We also know young people—think of the recently sainted Carlo Acutis (check out his story if you haven’t, he was an amazing young man who died too young) or St. Therese of Lisieux (her autobiography A Story of a Soul is one of my top five books of all time, I think every Christian should read it)—who were beyond their years and pursued the sacred, who loved the unlovable, who realized that the energy of youth presented a unique opportunity, to work vigorously for the Kingdom, that their physical advantages that come with youth could be devoted to a holy purpose.

The Apostle Paul, writing to his young protégé Timothy, provides crucial balance: "Let no one despise you for your youth, but set the believers an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity" (1 Timothy 4:12, ESV). Paul isn't dismissing the value of youth—he's acknowledging that spiritual maturity isn't purely a function of age. There can indeed be elders who've never really matured in the faith.

But it’s not too late, either. Even if you’ve lived sixty or seventy years in bitterness and despair, if you’ve struggled to find faith, hope, or love, you can pursue Christ today with a vigor in spirit that your body can’t match. Because as we grow older, let’s face it, priorities come into focus.

While Scripture consistently honors age and the wisdom it can bring, it also recognizes that chronological age doesn't automatically produce spiritual maturity. Jesus Himself warned about the Pharisees, many of whom were elderly religious leaders, saying they were "blind guides" (Matthew 23:16). Their age hadn't produced wisdom because they had spent their years accumulating religious knowledge without cultivating humble hearts.

Augustine of Hippo captured this tension beautifully: "It is not years that make the soul mature, but rather the fervor of desire for wisdom" (De Trinitate, XIV.1.3). Some young people possess what the Desert Fathers called "old souls"—a spiritual gravity and wisdom beyond their years. Think of Mary, likely a teenager when she bore Christ, responding to Gabriel with profound theological understanding: "Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word" (Luke 1:38, ESV).

Yet even acknowledging these exceptions, the general principle remains: wisdom typically comes through lived experience, through years of walking with God through various seasons. As Job declares, "Wisdom is with the aged, and understanding in length of days" (Job 12:12, ESV). The Hebrew word for "understanding" here (tebunah) implies not just knowledge but skill—the kind of practical wisdom that can only come from having navigated life's storms.

 

Learning from Those Who've Gone Before

The Letter to the Hebrews provides us with a stunning vision of our spiritual heritage: "Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us" (Hebrews 12:1, ESV). This "cloud of witnesses" refers to the faithful who've gone before us (living in this world or living in heaven in Christ), whose examples light our path.

When we dismiss our elders, we're essentially saying we don't need this cloud of witnesses. We're claiming we can run the race of faith without learning from those who've already crossed the finish line. This is not just arrogant; it's foolish. As G.K. Chesterton wisely noted, "Tradition means giving votes to the most obscure of all classes, our ancestors. It is the democracy of the dead" (Orthodoxy, Chapter 4).

I think of my own faith journey and the elderly saints who've shaped it. There was Dr. Norman Nagel, an 80-year-old professor in seminary (he’s since gone to be with the Lord) who had a keen eye to see Christ in every circumstance, even when his earthly eyesight faded. There was Dorothy, an older woman in the congregation I served who didn’t even finish High School, but had the keenest insights in our Sunday morning bible studies that often left me speechless.

Or Mildred, a widow in her nineties who I used to visit in the nursing home when I was just a 25-year-old pastor. Her body had totally failed her, but her mind was sharp. She once told me, "Young man, I've buried a husband, two children, and most of my friends. But I'll tell you something—God has been faithful through every valley. Not always in the way I wanted, but always in the way I needed." No self-help book written by a thirty-something life coach could have taught me what that conversation did.

 

The Source of Our Ails

Look at the problems of our society and culture. It’s my hypothesis that our “youth idolatry” might be the source of many of our ails. When a culture elevates youth above wisdom, several spiritual maladies follow.

First, we lose our sense of continuity with the past. Without honoring our elders, we become historically rootless, prone to repeating mistakes and falling for old heresies dressed in new clothes. How many contemporary spiritual movements are simply ancient errors repackaged for a generation that doesn't know church history?

Second, we develop an unhealthy relationship with our own aging. If youth is the ultimate value, then every passing year becomes a loss rather than a gain. We fight against the natural process of aging instead of embracing it as part of God's design. The Psalmist offers a different vision: "The righteous flourish like the palm tree and grow like a cedar in Lebanon... They still bear fruit in old age; they are ever full of sap and green" (Psalm 92:12, 14, ESV).

Third, we miss out on the unique gifts that come with age. Researchers have found that certain types of wisdom—what they call "crystallized intelligence"—actually increase with age. This includes judgment, the ability to see patterns, and the capacity to understand complex social situations. When we push our elders to the margins, we deprive ourselves of these essential perspectives.

 

A Practical Path Forward

So what do we do about it? How do we learn to better honor and appreciate our elders?

Make time for them. This is perhaps the most practical step. Visit the aging members of your family and congregation more often. These visits don’t need to be long; even 15-20 minutes of your focused attention can make a huge difference. Put a recurring visit on your calendar and treat it with the same importance as any other appointment. Whether they still live alone, or are in retirement communities or nursing homes, they're worth your time. They'll appreciate the visit, but you'll likely benefit more form such visits than they do.

Ask for their stories. Don’t just talk about yourself or the news. Ask them to share memories from their youth and stories about their lives. Be prepared to listen patiently. Ask about what it was like to grow up, what they did for fun, and what they’ve learned from their biggest mistakes. You'll not only learn a lot, but you'll also honor them by showing that their life story matters.

Offer your assistance whenever possible. What our elders can offer in wisdom is worth far more than whatever labors we can give them to help them take care of the daily needs and to perform their tasks. Some older people will hesitate to ask, they don't want to be a "bother." However, if you offer to help, and they hesitate to accept your assistance, tell them that you'd simply appreciate a chance to talk to them afterwards, to hear their story, to take their "wisdom" as payment for your efforts.

Seek their advice. Directly ask them for advice on a problem you're facing. Whether it's a relationship issue, a career decision, or a spiritual question, their experience gives them a unique perspective. When you value their contributions, you combat the "youth knows best" mentality that pervades our culture. It also gives older people who can sometimes feel "neglected" or "undervalued" in our world a sense that they still have purpose, something to offer.

Be aware of your own "ageism." We've all been influenced by our culture's biases. Make a conscious effort to challenge your own assumptions. Are you quick to dismiss an older person’s idea in a meeting? Do you assume an older person won’t understand a new technology? Challenge those thoughts and make a conscious effort to do the opposite—to give their words and presence the respect they deserve.

Engage them in new things. Don't assume older people are resistant to change. Invite them to learn something new with you, whether it's a new hobby, a digital skill, or a different way of thinking about a theological issue. You might be surprised by their enthusiasm and how they can adapt.

While youth may be beautiful and full of potential, our culture's worship of it has led us astray. By embracing a biblical and historic view of aging, we can reclaim something far more valuable than smooth skin and boundless energy: the hard-won wisdom that comes from a life of faith, lived fully and faithfully. Let us, therefore, not only honor the "cloud of witnesses" who have gone before us but actively seek to learn from them. In doing so, we don't just enrich our own lives; we build a healthier, more humane, and ultimately more Christian community, one generation to the next. Let's make a conscious effort to value the wrinkles that tell a story, the gray hairs that are a crown, and the hands that, though weathered by time, have held onto a faith that can move mountains.

 

In Jesus' name,

Judah