DIGNITY IN HUMANITY
Dignity in maturity is something we admire when we see it, but it’s not guaranteed with age. I’ve noticed how often older believers will say things they’d never have said when they were younger, and then brush it off with, “Well, I’ve earned the right to speak my mind.” Or my personal favorite: “I’m too old to sugarcoat things anymore.” I guess tact has an expiration date. But somewhere along the way, we confused maturity with a free pass to be harsh. That’s not dignity; it’s just gracelessness wrapped in gray hair.
Now don’t misunderstand me. I know we all slip sometimes. Who among us hasn’t blurted something out of pocket and thought, “Well, there goes my filter”? I’ve done it too. And some of us had whole seasons in our former lives when speaking without grace was basically our personality. I can think back on moments when I was sharp, sarcastic, or proud, and I cringe. Maybe that’s why Jesus’ words about the Pharisees sting so much: “… you are like whitewashed tombs, which outwardly appear beautiful, but within are full of dead people’s bones and all uncleanness.” (Matthew 23:27b, ESV) They carried themselves with authority, they had the reputation of maturity, but their words exposed them as hollow. If you’ve ever met a disciple who seemed polished on the outside but graceless in conversation, you know exactly what Jesus was talking about. It feels fake. Empty. Like someone cosplaying holiness without the real heart behind it.
That’s the danger of aging without growing. Experience is supposed to soften us into wisdom, but entitlement can twist it into arrogance. I’ve seen people equate bluntness with honesty, as if cruelty was somehow a virtue. We say things like, “I’m just telling it like it is,” when what we really mean is, “I’m tired of being patient.” But honesty without grace isn’t maturity; it’s laziness dressed up as courage. And the irony is, the more we lean into that excuse, the more our faith looks thin and brittle to those around us. We become disciples who sound strong but feel hollow. The world hears us and thinks, “If that’s what decades of following Christ produces, why would I want it?”
The biblical vision is so different. Proverbs says, “Gray hair is a crown of glory; it is gained in a righteous life.” (Proverbs 16:31) Notice that the crown isn’t automatic. It comes with righteousness, with years of faith lived out in humility. Paul writes to Titus, telling older men and women to model self-control, reverence, and soundness of love, so they can teach younger believers what it looks like to live faithfully. That doesn’t sound like a free pass to speak our minds unfiltered. It sounds like a call to season our words carefully, to let grace ripen on our tongues the way fruit ripens on a tree.
And think about Jesus. He had every right to say whatever He wanted, but He never excused Himself from grace. Yes, He rebuked the proud with sharpness, but His words to the broken were full of tenderness. He didn’t confuse harshness with strength. John tells us He came “full of grace and truth.” That pairing is what real maturity looks like. Truth without grace is just a whitewashed tomb: a strong exterior with nothing living inside. Grace without truth collapses into flattery. But grace and truth together? That’s life-giving. That’s the sound of Christ’s voice.
I think part of the problem is that we confuse dignity with dominance. We think dignity means having the last word, or being the one who “tells it like it is.” But real dignity is quieter. It’s when people lean in to hear us because they trust that our words carry both weight and care. Dignity doesn’t demand attention; it earns it. If our maturity makes us harsher, we’re moving away from Christ, not toward Him. If our aging makes us more patient, gentler, and slower to speak, then we’re on the right track.
So here’s the challenge:
- What if maturity wasn’t measured by how much we say, but by how carefully we speak?
- What if discipleship meant not just gaining knowledge over the years but letting that knowledge soften into kindness?
- What if the older we got, the less fake our faith looked because our words lined up with the grace we’ve received?
That would be dignity worth handing down. And it would leave behind something more than polished tombs. It would leave behind life.