The Four Cloaks of Hypocrisy
Not the summer she planned for.
June flew nine hours from Cincinnati to London. As the airport trolley wheeled her large Chanel bag and hand luggage toward the trunk of the car, the lid flipped open in salute for a successful trip. The trunk finally gave her a warm, glowing smile that ran through the S-Class Mercedes’ tail lamp.
Before she could meet the familiar eyes of ‘Aunty May’—as she had affectionately called her for the past sixteen years—June muttered with a light smile, "How can a year have four seasons, and I’ve been bearing 'June' for thirty-eight summers, yet still can’t get a privilege card from the Four Seasons franchise?" still not looking like that would change this June either. May quickly jumped on the pun and chuckled. This was June’s first summer visit in ten years; business had taken her through all the other seasons. She didn’t know what surprises summer might hold this time—aside from the obvious outdoor activities. She reached out for her handbag as if she needed to shove in some adrenaline rush in exchange for a pack of chewing gum. She nervously tossed two pieces of mint gum into her mouth and chewed them vigorously, as if she had almost missed a late prescription dosage.
May had recently started attending an interdenominational church in South London—a healing shift from all the church drama she’d sidestepped most of her life. Still, the thought of bringing June there on Sunday sat heavily on her mind. June, sweet and sharp, a true Cincinnati native, held tightly to her belief that church people were all hypocrites. It was a mumpsimus she had clung to for as long as May could remember. Was that about to change?
Driving the 12 miles from her apartment to June’s Airbnb, May was pleasantly surprised that June had agreed to come along. In just 15 minutes, they were seated in the church auditorium.
The next 20 minutes were the weirdest of June’s life.
She sat frozen in a moment of rare introspection: How did I reach such a strong conclusion about church folks when I’ve never actually been part of a church? Just then, the speakers rang out:
“Good morning, Church!”
She looked up. This must be the pastor.
He read aloud:
“Do unto others what you would have them do to you.” — Matthew 7:12
A wave of shock hit her—That’s actually from the Bible?
The pastor continued:
“Let love be without hypocrisy.”
The very word June had used to define churchgoers now echoed back to her—only this time, it demanded an audit of her own views.
The Four Cloaks of Hypocrisy
Like the four seasons of the year—each distinct in mood and influence—so too are the four cloaks of hypocrisy. Just as we intuitively know what to wear in summer or winter, we often cloak ourselves in these disguises, knowingly or unknowingly.
"Just as summer didn’t care that her name was June, winter won’t give a hoot if yours is Summer." May noted mentally, struck by the poetic irony.
Once a standard has been set, blame becomes measurable. It’s easy to hate religious people for their double standards. You call them out before checking your own moral alignment. Why? Because there’s comfort in being led rather than leading. That subtle apathy helps tailor the very cloak of hypocrisy.
Cloak One: Fake Love
The kind that can’t take the same truth it loves to dish out. If you detest being corrected but enjoy correcting others, your intentions are misaligned. True love corrects both parties. But maybe that level of sincerity feels like too much public display of affection? Maybe, that's not your love language
When you “call people out,” you’re assuming a superior role—one that presumes you know better. To you, this letter reads:
“Not many of you should become teachers, my brothers, for you know that we who teach will be judged with greater strictness.” — James 3:1
I respect that this text comes with DEI
We like to put leaders in the spotlight; we follow them, we hype them in an overly unrealistic manner, and we put expectations on them (hoping) that they won’t fall short of that standard. If they ever do, it's the trap we designed.
Do they deserve it? Many times, they do.
Before we become public leaders at any capacity, God wills, love requires that we are correctable and never superior to corrections.
Correction should begin in the home—husbands listening to wives, wives to husbands, siblings to one another, and trusted friends to each other. What goes uncorrected in private will soon become a public scandal. Everyone should be open to correction, no matter how anointed they may be.
Cloak Two: Self-Righteousness
When the Word of God always seems to be directed at someone else. You hear sermons for the sinners you plan to confront—but never for yourself.
You develop spiritual OCD—obsessed with the specks in others’ eyes while ignoring the log in your own. You try to swap places with the Holy Spirit because His doing a slower job at the convicting on your timing. Praying becomes a show of performance, humility, a prop.
May understood this all too well—one of the many reasons she’d kept her distance from church communities.
Cloak Three: Over-Spiritualizing Responsibilities
Particularly common in charismatic circles. Some call democratic voting systems demonic, yet fight over the election of church leadership roles. They can tithe their children’s tuition in supposed service to the LORD, skip taxes as a protest against “the world’s system.” They are present in every church event but absent where their families need them most.
They decline meaningful civic duties but are quick to condemn society’s failings.
For June, this cloak was the final straw—the very thing that had kept her from the idea of church all these years.
Cloak Four: Fabricating Testimonies
You were saved from a car accident, but suddenly the story includes two trucks and a wild bear. Why would you need to amplify in flesh what was done in the spirit?
This cloak thrives on sensationalism—miracles that can’t be verified, events that shift under scrutiny. The spirit of falsehood and the anti-Christ is what dresses in our gatherings, masquerading as the working of miracles.
The need for transparency arises from a history of spiritual theatrics that has eroded trust.
Was Christ’s death unverifiable? Why should His healings be?
June felt something stir. Quietly, she reached for May’s hand and squeezed it. Then, leaning in, she gave her a warm, soul-deep hug and whispered, “Thanks, Aunty May.”
they both thanked the pastor for taking the time to speak so boldly and compassionately about hypocrisy. They both agreed that once the moral standing isn’t biased, the right to blame and to be blamed becomes the equity for Discipleship. A message that, perhaps, found power because the messenger had once been broken to deliver it.
Blessings, my friends.