Too Good to Question: When Faith Feeds the Algorithm

By LONNIE KING

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Somewhere between scrolling past a friend’s summer fun photo and another friend’s political rant, Facebook decided to serve me something a little different: a touching story about Mary Tyler Moore and Dick Van Dyke reuniting backstage years after the loss of her only son in 1980.

It was beautifully written. Quiet. Emotional. Grief met comfort in a single embrace, and one perfectly scripted line stood out:

“You’re the only man who ever made me laugh when I didn’t want to.”

It got me.

And then, just as quickly, something in me whispered: “Is this even true?”

Let me pause here to acknowledge what you may have already questioned and what I’m sure this moment says about me.

Apparently, the Facebook algorithm thinks I’m an old soft-hearted, nostalgia-loving, emotionally fragile sitcom historian who can be taken down by a warm hug and a callback to black-and-white TV. (Which… well… okay, not entirely inaccurate.)

But I did what many of us don’t: I went looking for more information.

Turns out, the story has no verifiable sources. No mention in memoirs. No archived interviews. No photo evidence. It’s just a warm, well-crafted piece of “emotional misinformation”—a genre that doesn’t intend to mislead in the traditional sense, but to quietly seduce you into trusting a story because it feels true.

And that’s when it hit me: this isn’t just about Facebook. This is about faith, too.

The Soft Power of Emotional Misinformation

We tend to associate misinformation with politics, conspiracy theories, or obvious scams. But there’s another, more insidious kind: the kind that pulls on your heart instead of your outrage.

It’s called emotional misinformation, and it works by:

• Tapping into nostalgia, grief, or hope
• Telling just-plausible-enough stories that feel safe to believe
• Building networks of trust so that future posts—about anything from vitamins to political causes—land on fertile ground

It’s social engineering wrapped in sentimentality. And the reason it works so well is because we want to believe it. We want something beautiful to be true.

But that same mechanism—the manipulation of hope and emotional resonance—shows up in places we don’t often question. Like church tithing pledge drives. Like religious media. Like altar calls wrapped in emotional music.

Faith and the Feel-Good Algorithm

First, please hear this: emotional investment in something is not necessarily a bad thing.  And not all emotional moments in faith communities are manipulative.

Let’s also be clear: human beings are wired for meaning, and faith can offer beautiful, honest expressions of that meaning. But there’s a darker undercurrent when emotion becomes the strategy—when a carefully timed story, song, or testimony is deployed like an emotional trigger. That is social engineering wrapped in spirituality.

It’s not always overt. Sometimes it’s just a soft-spoken pastor recounting a tearful conversion.  Sometimes it’s the campfire song that always plays just before the big altar moment. Sometimes it’s a story about someone who lost everything—until they found Jesus, and everything made sense.

These aren’t always lies. But they are often curated truths—assembled in such a way that they nudge us toward a predetermined conclusion. Not unlike the algorithm, they condition our responses. They create emotional rhythms. They make us more likely to say “yes” before we’ve even asked “why.”

We don’t call it an algorithm in church. But sometimes, it’s not far off.

The Danger of Unquestioned Stories

I don’t think the people who write Facebook hoaxes or curate emotionally-charged church experiences are always trying to manipulate. Some are just trying to make us feel something good. But the danger comes when we stop asking questions because the story made us cry. When we assume “moving” equals “true.” When we confuse emotion with evidence.

In religious spaces, that can mean accepting abusive leadership because the sermons were inspiring. It can mean feeling ashamed of doubts because the people around us are always “too blessed to be stressed.”

It can mean silencing grief or confusion because someone told us to “just have faith” during the chorus of a worship song.

That’s not spirituality. That’s programming.

A Better Kind of Faith

I still believe in stories. I’m loathe to admit it, but I may even cry at a good one. But I’m learning to hold even the most beautiful tales—whether on social media or in Sunday morning sermons—with gentle skepticism.

I grew up in a faith culture that used code-speak like ‘heart knowledge’ as something superior to ‘head knowledge’.  By that, it was meant that feeling something deep down in your innermost being was better than understanding it with your mind.  Heart knowledge got you to heaven.  Head knowledge could lead you to hell.

Too often, though, that mentality created congregations filled with people who could be fed any and every bit of misleading dogma a church leader would want to offer.  And I think the years and decades of that type of ‘worship’ has led to the current state of religion—specifically Christianity—in the USA today.

But, a better kind of faith doesn’t manipulate emotions to manufacture belief. It allows for both wonder and questioning. It doesn’t ask us to suspend our discernment in the name of hope. It welcomes hope because we’ve told the truth.

And maybe that’s what I long for most: a space where I don’t have to choose between feeling deeply and thinking clearly.

So yeah, Facebook, I saw your Dick and Mary story. It was lovely. It just wasn’t true.

And in a strange way, I’m okay with that. Because even in a world filled with fake hugs and curated faith, I believe real connection is still possible—when we stop trying to engineer it.

Grace and grit to you!  — LK