I saw both men laugh off a sad reality: the assumption that age isn’t accompanied by maturity but by a kind of socially acceptable meanness.
On a recent episode of Pardon the Interruption—a show I’ve been watching faithfully since I was in middle school—co-hosts Tony Kornheiser and Mike Wilbon opened with a lighthearted riff on “National Nothing to Fear Day.”
The show’s cold open proceeded as it often does, with the two friends laughing as Tony rattled off a list of fears—snakes, spiders, emotional intimacy. “None of that,” Tony quipped. I laughed.
Immediately afterwards, both men—each of whom is over retirement age, Tony considerably so—conceded that their fears lists weren’t the only things increasing with age. No, they both agreed that they’re getting grumpier as they’ve aged. “The list of things that upset you get longer as you get older,” Tony said. “Absolutely, yes,” Wilbon added.
In what was for most viewers likely an utterly unforgettable moment—part and parcel of the daily lede which ushers the audience into the show’s “A block” as the opening credits roll—I saw both men laugh off a sad reality: the assumption that age isn’t accompanied by maturity but by a kind of socially acceptable craziness and/or meanness.
What if we aimed instead for something truly countercultural, and thoroughly biblical—becoming older and gentler?
Just think about it. We’re bombarded with stories about grumpy old men, from the 1993 eponymous romcom Grumpy Old Men to Clint Eastwood’s Gran Torino to Disney’s 2009 hit, Up. Though these films’ plots have almost nothing in common, they all attest that old people—and particularly old men—are just plain grumpy. Indeed, whether it’s feuding next-door neighbors competing for the affections of a widow; a racist veteran trying to make sense of his neighborhood’s changing demographics; or curmudgeonly Carl, the adventure-seeking septuagenarian, the films’ main characters possess the same character trait: ill-temperament.
The “grumpy old man,” which has become a popular narrative trope, is also a self-fulfilling prophecy.
But should it be?
I don’t think so. The apostle Paul, in his letter to the Galatians, outlines the fruit of the Spirit: “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, [and] self-control.” (Gal. 5:22–23). The fruit of the Spirit aren’t meant to be passing traits or youthful ideals. No, they’re the markers of a life shaped by God. “Christian virtues,” as Martin Luther put it.
If we believe sanctification is real (and it is!), then we should expect these traits to ripen and mature, not sour, over time. As we age, we should, in other words, become more virtuous, not less. Insofar as the “fruit” go, we should become more loving, more joyful, more peaceful, more patient, more kind, more good, more faithful, more gentle, more self-controlled.
How often is it the opposite? We’re hateful. Depressed. Quarrelsome. Impatient. Unkind. Unhelpful. Unreliable. Easily provoked to anger. Undisciplined.
But that’s not what our culture celebrates. We lionize the crank. We chuckle at the retiree who shakes his fist at teenagers and complains about how everything used to be better. We write off bitterness as an earned indulgence of old age.
It ought not be this way.
Yes, the older we get, the more losses we endure. Our health declines, and our friends and loved ones pass away. Institutions disappoint. Dreams fade. Life hits hard in manifold ways. But trials don’t have to make us bitter. They can—and, with Christ’s help—they do, refine us (Rom. 5:3-5; James 1:2-4).
Now, let me quickly say that I don’t want to attack Mike or Tony. I admire them both. Their banter has been part of my regular rhythm for the better part of two decades. But I do want to challenge the assumption baked into the claim that aging necessarily leads to irritability and detachment.
In a culture obsessed with youth (and terrified of aging), it’s tempting to reclaim relevance by embracing a caricature: we can’t be young and charming forever, so let’s be old and cantankerous.
But what if we aimed instead for something truly countercultural, and thoroughly biblical—becoming older and gentler? Older and more patient. Perhaps even older and kinder.
As Christians, we’re not supposed to simply get older; we’re supposed to grow up.
I know it’s fictional, but there’s a moment in The Fellowship of the Ring when Frodo, newly burdened with the knowledge of the Ring’s evil, turns to Gandalf in despair: “I wish it need not have happened in my time,” he says. Gandalf, old and weathered, does not chastise him or stoke his fear. Instead, he answers with profound wisdom: “So do I… and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”
Now that’s a portrait of maturity. A picture of what age, guided by grace, can become. You see, Gandalf doesn’t respond to Frodo’s fear with cynicism or irritation. He doesn’t throw fuel on the fire or throw in the towel. No. Gandalf listens. He comforts. He inspires. Let’s hope many of us grow into Gandalfs.
You see, as Christians, we’re not supposed to simply get older; we’re supposed to grow up. On the Christian view, getting older isn’t about voicing opinions, airing one’s grievances, or defending personal irritations. It’s about maturing, about becoming the kind of person whose presence and wisdom can calm rooms, restore relations, even heal. It’s about outdoing others in love, thinking of others more than selves.
I’ll end this way. The world tells us getting older means getting meaner. More easily provoked. More irritable. Crankier. But it doesn’t have to. We don’t have to become grumpy old men.
In Christ, we can—and should—grow into the kind of “olders” Scripture envisions—warm and wise, charitable yet firm. And not because we’ve seen it all, but because we’re being transformed by the One who sees all of us—and loves us still.
