Resources

Being honest with oneself is challenging. One might think that academics, committed to intellectual pursuits, would have an easier time being honest with themselves. I fear this is not the case, at least for me.Frustration and rejection abound in academia. Whether it be the rejection of a piece of writing, an unsuccessful grant proposal, or, more commonly, a teaching difficulty, academics face a smorgasbord of possible sources of strife. Some become defiant phoenixes, rising above disappointment and angst, sometimes becoming hyperconfident egoists. Others ignore the positives and engage in a Sisyphean pursuit of perfection, morphing into self-flagellating pessimists. Others are more even-keeled, particularly those who can separate a sense of self from their job, although I suspect this level of equanimity takes years, if not decades, to develop. Let me tell you what I hope is my first lie of this essay:If a professor is sufficiently skilled, all students will be motivated to learn, will put forth their best effort, will be completely attentive in class, will accept the professor’s judgment of their assessments, and will not violate academic integrity.At every educational level I have attended or worked at, some of the instructors were spoken of reverentially. Their pedagogical acumen was mythical, captivating their students and guiding them to produce work of remarkably high quality. I assumed that their teaching ability was not just better than mine, but categorically superior. To employ a baseball analogy, if they were Major League quality, I belonged in Little League. Although many of my students were graciously engaged, showed up prepared, behaved attentively, and accepted my assessment judgments, the fact that not all my students can be described as such reflected a deficiency on my part. Not only was I letting myself down by not being a better teacher, but I was also doing my students and my institution a disservice. I had to improve somehow. I could always explain course material more clearly. Perhaps I should grade even more generously. No, I should grade more strictly, then students would be more motivated to focus in class and to prepare for their assessments. It was so simple for the great teachers about whom I had been hearing my entire life.Let’s try to be honest.Even though I fall into the self-flagellating pessimist category outlined above, do I really think that every student issue was my fault? Let’s try another question. Do I blame my colleagues when they report struggling with a student who habitually shows up late or violates academic integrity? I would not, just as I would not blame other people who receive subpar treatment.So, why am I unable to excise the lie mentioned above from my psyche? It comes back to the mythically great teachers. They, certainly, have solved the problems I am having. Thus, a perfect, or nearly perfect teacher exists; I ought to work to be as strong an instructor as they are. Do I have empirical evidence that these instructors are, in fact, universally beloved? I suppose I do not, but that has not shaken my belief in their mythology. Here’s a second lie I’m going to tell that underlies the first one:You should want everyone to like you and you have the capacity to get everyone to like you.I’ve never been comfortable with anyone, let alone students, not liking me. I have been told that getting everyone to like you is like trying to fit a rug that is too big for a room—whatever you do, there will be a corner in which the rug won’t fit or lie flat. Even in classes in which most students reported on their evaluations that they would recommend me as a teacher, if it wasn’t 100 percent of them, I felt as if I had failed to live up to standards. This takes me to a final lie: Student satisfaction is a direct reflection of quality teaching.I accept this as a lie, despite institutional pressure to return high student satisfaction scores. If I acknowledge this, then the fact that I am not universally beloved by students does not entail that I am an inadequate teacher. The hard truth is that I would likely be a better teacher if I focused less on my perception of how my teaching is received. There is likely nothing I can do to make everyone like me. Perhaps the mythically great teachers are just that—myths I’ve held on to as a way of magnifying the negative at the expense of the positive.

“Is collaboration always empowering – or might it sometimes be quietly exhausting?”I often invite students to see our classrooms as spaces where “we co-create learning together.” Theological education is, after all, about formation rather than just information. Yet, I’ve started to wonder if our hopeful ideas about mutual empowerment and flattened hierarchies might sometimes hide deeper tensions – particularly for those teaching and learning from marginalized social locations.The more I reflect on collaborative pedagogies, the more complicated the picture becomes. I find myself wrestling with difficult questions: What tensions remain unseen or unspoken? Who truly bears the emotional and practical burdens of collaboration, particularly among marginalized educators and students? Are flattened hierarchies genuinely equal, or do they quietly demand extra emotional labor from those already burdened by systemic inequalities?I don’t offer easy answers here. Instead, I invite you into critical reflection about the real demands of collaboration – and the hidden costs it may entail. Lie #1: We pretend collaborative pedagogy naturally leads to equal participation.Last semester, my teaching assistant emailed me with an unsettling dilemma: “I’m a little uncertain how to grade this. According to my records, two international students spoke significantly less than others, but subtracting points feels like punishing them for cultural differences.” Her task seemed straightforward – evaluate classroom participation – but it quickly exposed troubling contradictions. Should international students be penalized for speaking thoughtfully yet hesitantly due to language barriers? Conversely, should students who confidently dominated discussions – often without genuinely engaging the readings – receive higher marks simply because they spoke frequently and assertively?Her email revealed how participation in collaborative spaces is often influenced by invisible power dynamics and cultural assumptions. If I continue grading participation based solely on who speaks and how often, my “collaborative” pedagogy inadvertently reinforces rather than disrupts existing inequalities. It risks obscuring the real barriers marginalized students face in making their voices heard.Not every voice holds equal power. Some students speak freely, confident their contributions will be valued. Others – particularly students of color, LGBTQ+ students, disabled students, international students, or those from working-class backgrounds – may speak cautiously, code-switch, or fear judgment. True collaborative pedagogy demands careful attention to these social and cultural realities. It also requires us to rethink how we evaluate classroom participation with genuine cultural sensitivity, always aware of the underlying power dynamics. Lie #2: We pretend collaboration equally distributes risks and rewards.As a transnational educator, I’ve personally navigated these tensions, often weighing the risks before speaking. Throughout my academic journey, both as student and educator, I’ve experienced firsthand how silence or selective verbal participation can be misread as flaws needing correction or a lack of confidence. Quiet reflection, thoughtful pauses, or cautious engagement were often interpreted negatively, pressuring me to challenge my thoughtful silence and reshape how I claimed authority in classroom dynamics.Each semester, I enthusiastically embrace collaborative methods – co-designing syllabi, fostering open dialogue, and inviting student-led sessions. Initially, these approaches feel refreshing and energizing. Yet inevitably, sometime during the course tensions arise: awkward silences, confusion about roles, and blurred boundaries. For marginalized educators, these methods often invite scrutiny of authority, competence, and intent, inadvertently reinforcing existing power imbalances rather than dismantling them.Perhaps we’ve too quickly assumed that collaboration automatically empowers everyone, overlooking persistent power imbalances deeply embedded in our classrooms. Are we genuinely ready to support students and educators as they navigate these unequal risks, or have we conveniently assumed collaboration to be inherently equitable? Please, don’t pretend…I fully acknowledge the significant benefits collaborative pedagogies bring, such as vibrant learning environments and mutual empowerment. I always integrate collaboration with my course pedagogy. However, I want to explore the ways in which collaborative methods can disproportionately burden marginalized participants.These “lies” push us to reimagine what a truly collaborative classroom might look like – not simply as a pedagogical trend, but as ethical, pastoral, and cultural commitments. We must critically reassess classroom dynamics: Who defines collaboration? Whose participation genuinely counts? Who determines what matters? Collaborative pedagogy demands ongoing attention to power dynamics, attentive inclusivity, and cultural sensitivity. It invites vulnerability and complexity, necessitating continuous ethical reflection and pastoral attentiveness. Flattening hierarchies alone isn’t sufficient; we must recognize and navigate subtle, persistent power realities.So, let’s stop pretending that fully collaborative pedagogies emerge naturally. They require intentional cultivation, careful attention, and relational sensitivity – bringing both meaningful opportunities and hidden burdens. As we dream about collaboration in our learning journeys, perhaps it’s time to pause and honestly ask ourselves: What exactly are we co-creating, and who silently shoulders its emotional costs?