Tuesday, June 9, 2026
The teacher can get lost in her own expertise, deluding herself into believing she is the wisest. But not even Solomon held such prestige. Nor Jesus or the Buddha.
The conundrum a teacher faces is believing they have the answers, and that their answers outshine all others. Who, then, gets to be the Masterful One—the best of them all? Few experts admit their guilty pleasure. They stand behind their tried-and-true methodologies, speaking from pulpits and lecterns, failing to admit fallacy. True wisdom cannot be caught or pinned down in a pulpit (or a blog!); it is always captivated by the mystery of what it doesn’t know yet.
No one escapes the admonishing perpetuity of existence. Life is teaching even Yoda, and he is older than Methuselah. Do you think a masterful teacher no longer practices? That they have perfected faith, purportedly like that guy from Nazareth? The ones who do not practice have reached a plateau called “perfect.”
No fool is greater than I. Can I not even win for losing? Even if I admit my fallacy, am I the greatest fool in the land? Weakest, strongest, best, expert, or fool—who is keeping records, if not the deceived one?
When we teach, let us admit: we are merely eager ignoramuses. We are expressing what we have learned, and from that point, we are still learning. Who knows the most? The fool, of course. Who knows the least? The fool. Who, then, is the expert—the fairest Lord? The “Beautiful Savior?”
This teacher is learning. And every day, new mercies I see. Every day, this naive child stumbles into teachings and shares the bounty. The ego, like a phallic statue, is a know-it-all. But even calling out the know-it-all is simply plastic calling out plastic.
I cannot turn the wisest into the captive because The Wisest is captivated.