Sacred Selectivity: What The Good Liars Reveal About Evangelical Hypocrisy

When the Bible Becomes a Weapon, Not a Guide

By LONNIE KING

Scrolling through TikTok the other day, I stumbled on a video from The Good Liars, a political comedy duo known for exposing contradictions through simple but piercing questions. This time, they were at the Southern Baptist Convention in Dallas, interviewing delegates about whether gay marriage should be legal.

The answers were predictable. Of course not, the delegates unanimously said. The reason?  Because, “the Bible tells me so.”

But that’s when the interviewers did what most people don’t: they pressed. Gently. Logically. And they didn’t let go.

Selective Scripture: The Case of Mixed Fabrics

One delegate confidently declared that gay marriage should be illegal because it violates Old Testament law. So one of the Good Liars (sorry, I should know their names) asked a follow-up: “Do you ever wear clothing made of mixed fabrics?”

The man hesitated. But the press was on: “Because the Old Testament condemns that too.”

And there it was—the pause, the stammer, the uncomfortable shrug. A moment of clarity disguised as confusion.

Then came the knockout punch: “How do you decide which Old Testament rules to obey and which ones to ignore?”

It’s a question no evangelical has been able to answer convincingly—not because it’s unanswerable, but because to answer it honestly would mean admitting that their theology isn’t as airtight as they claim.

Weaponized Faith and the Illusion of Certainty

This kind of interaction exposes something deeper than inconsistent theology—it reveals an instinct to weaponize the Bible. For many evangelicals, the Bible isn’t a sacred text to wrestle with, it’s a rulebook to wield. Not for their own lives, necessarily—but for controlling the behavior of others.

They don’t want to talk about Leviticus when it comes to eating shellfish, trimming beards, or blending fabrics. But they’re quick to quote it when trying to legislate morality, particularly around sexuality.

That’s not conviction. That’s convenience.

The Pick-and-Choose Problem

Let’s just say the quiet part out loud:

Everybody who reads the Bible picks and chooses. That includes me. That includes you. That includes the most fiery, pulpit-pounding, Scripture-quoting fundamentalist you’ve ever encountered.

They’ll swear they “believe every word.” They don’t.

I feel like I need to emphasize that again:  No one believes everything in the Bible.

Because if they did, they’d be selling their possessions to the poor. They’d refuse to serve in the military. They’d never eat bacon or shrimp. They’d stone rebellious children. They’d greet each other with holy kisses and wash feet at church.

They don’t believe every word—they believe the ones that support what they already think.

And here’s the truth I’ve come to hold: Yes, I selectively decide what to cling to and what to let go of—but so do they. The difference is, I’m honest about it. I no longer pretend that every verse carries the same weight or speaks with equal clarity to modern life.

I try to read with compassion, humility, and context as my compass. Not as a way to bend Scripture to fit me—but to stop bending other people to fit my interpretation of Scripture.

What’s the alternative? A religion that’s loud about condemning sexuality but silent on injustice? One that obsesses over gender roles but shrugs at greed and cruelty?

It’s also a religion that’s gone to great lengths to invent a workaround—splitting Old Testament law into categories like “Ceremonial Law,” “Civil Law,” and “Moral Law.”

Never mind that this distinction didn’t exist in Scripture itself—it emerged in the early church (2nd–4th century), was formalized by Augustine and later the medieval scholastics (Thomas Aquinas), and cemented by the Reformers (Luther, Calvin, Wesley). It became foundational in the Westminster Confession and other Protestant catechisms.

But here’s the bottom line—it was a religious construct created centuries later, not in the Bible itself.

I can’t sit here today and tell you the specific motivations behind the creation of that concept. But, whether it was a conscious decision or unwitting equivocation, the bottom line is that those Christian scholars did not believe certain portions of the Bible were worth adhering to, while others were. 

And, as a result, it allowed religious institutions to enforce the parts of Scripture they liked while dismissing the rest. In short: a theological construct, used to justify selective obedience and preserve institutional control.

That’s not faithfulness. That’s favoritism.  That’s theology reverse-engineered to protect power.

A Comic Mirror to a Serious Problem

What makes The Good Liars so effective is that they don’t scream, shout, or shame. They hold up a mirror. They let people walk right into their own contradictions, often without realizing it until it’s too late.

And in that way, they’re doing what a lot of pastors and theologians should have been doing all along—asking hard questions, challenging easy answers, and refusing to confuse cultural dogma with divine truth.

If Your Faith Can’t Be Questioned, How Strong Can it Be?

If your theology can’t withstand basic scrutiny from a street-level satirist, maybe it’s not as sacred as you think.

Faith that’s real can handle questions. It welcomes examination. It doesn’t need to bully people into compliance or hide behind cherry-picked verses.

If your convictions demand selective obedience and public shaming to survive… they’re not convictions. They’re just camouflage for control.

Grace and grit to you!  — LK