"A final word: I am not knowledgeable about the internet. I do not have a computer. I guess that at 74 years of age, I don't have the patience to learn"
About this Quote
A pastor’s humility can read like piety, but here it also functions as a boundary line. Wilkerson’s “final word” lands with the tonal finality of a closing benediction: discussion over, channel closed. By foregrounding his ignorance of the internet and the almost tactile detail “I do not have a computer,” he’s not simply confessing a gap in skill; he’s staking out a moral geography. The message is: whatever follows online is not me, not my authority, not my responsibility.
The careful sequence matters. “Not knowledgeable” is soft, forgivable. “Do not have a computer” is firmer, almost declarative asceticism. Then comes the self-deprecating shrug of age: “at 74… I don’t have the patience to learn.” That line performs modesty while quietly converting a choice into a natural fact. It’s less “I refused” than “time refused for me,” which shields him from the modern expectation that public figures must be reachable, searchable, and perpetually clarifying themselves.
Contextually, this sits in the era when religious leaders were being pulled into the internet’s new accountability machine: viral misquotes, fake endorsements, and the dawning realization that charisma could be replicated in a forwarded email. Wilkerson’s subtext is pastoral triage. He’s protecting his flock from digital noise and protecting his own voice from the impersonation and distortion that the early web made easy. The irony is that the disclaimer itself is an internet artifact: a preemptive attempt to control a medium he claims not to inhabit.
The careful sequence matters. “Not knowledgeable” is soft, forgivable. “Do not have a computer” is firmer, almost declarative asceticism. Then comes the self-deprecating shrug of age: “at 74… I don’t have the patience to learn.” That line performs modesty while quietly converting a choice into a natural fact. It’s less “I refused” than “time refused for me,” which shields him from the modern expectation that public figures must be reachable, searchable, and perpetually clarifying themselves.
Contextually, this sits in the era when religious leaders were being pulled into the internet’s new accountability machine: viral misquotes, fake endorsements, and the dawning realization that charisma could be replicated in a forwarded email. Wilkerson’s subtext is pastoral triage. He’s protecting his flock from digital noise and protecting his own voice from the impersonation and distortion that the early web made easy. The irony is that the disclaimer itself is an internet artifact: a preemptive attempt to control a medium he claims not to inhabit.
Quote Details
| Topic | Internet |
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