“To Tell the Truth” was a popular TV game show that ran from 1956 to 1968, and then from 1969 to 1978. It had a long run.

I watched it regularly as a boy. The show involved three contestants, each of whom would introduce themselves as the same person: “I am Joe Miller” (for example). The show’s host – Bud Collyer for 12 years, Garry Moore for eight and Joe Garagiola for one – would describe the contestants’ unusual occupation and experience.

The panelists, a rotating group of celebrities, would then pose questions to the contestants, one of whom would be telling the truth about their story and two were allowed to lie. At the end, the panelists would guess who the truth-teller was. The dramatic climax came when the host asked, “Will the real Joe Miller stand up,” and the truth-teller would slowly rise. The result was often a surprise, to the panelists and to the audience.

All the contestants would win some prize money, but the one who took home the most was the contestant who had hoodwinked more of the panelists. In short, the one who lied the best was the winner.

More than 40 years later, America is involved in a unique version “To Tell the Truth,” but this is no game; lives and futures are at stake. That said, there are some similar dynamics to the popular game show and what we are dealing with as a country. In this nationwide never-ending contest, the panelists are the American people, and the contestants are various political, religious and economic leaders, who are pitching their different versions of the truth.

The process is not set up for us to ask questions, but rather to sort through the platforms, policies and pitches that come at us. And the rest of us have to vote, and then align ourselves with a truth, some of which are wildly divergent from one another, and some of which are couched in disinformation and outright lies.

Consider that one truth has it that more gun regulation makes us safer. A competing truth is that loosening those regulations make us safer. One truth is that there need to be tight state and federal regulations, if not total prohibition, on abortion. A competing truth is that regulations need to localized around the relationship between the mother, her family and medical providers. What is ironic about these two prominent cultural issues is the radically divergent embrace of regulation in protecting their particular truth.

And then there are the competing truths about money and financial markets. President-elect Donald Trump has both nominated to Cabinet posts and gathered around him people who have fabulous amounts of money. Many of them claim to have the truth about how to make money, distribute money and expertly guide the financial markets for the betterment of the American people.

Many, if not most, of these appointees and leaders would subscribe to the trickle-down theory of economics, which, in fact, does work for those who have substantial assets. But history has shown – over and over again – that despite the often-used metaphor “a rising tide lifts all boats,” popularized by President John F. Kennedy, far too many boats never make it into the harbor, and they are left out of the rising tide.

I fear that the energy and aggressiveness of many of the incredibly wealthy people chosen to deal with money and markets for the rest of the country will end up providing themselves with more resources to buy bigger boats or refurbish the ones they have. And – this is critical – that they will be unable to accurately or adequately see the truth of how it is for people stuck on shore.

At the end of every church service I lead, I offer a blessing, which I have adapted from the late social justice warrior, the Rev. William Sloan Coffin: “…grace to remember that the world is too dangerous now for anything but truth, and too small for anything but love.” We live in a world of competing truths, which makes far too many people feel unsafe, and renders the world more dangerous.

One way to sort out the mind-numbing pitches of truth that are forever coming our way is to see if a professed truth is accompanied by love. A question we can, and should, ask: “Is this truth wrapped in love?” If not, it may not be truth at all, but merely a prescription that serves a limited self-interest.

Love is broad and inclusive. Love is not just for some, but for all. Love is not just a sweet feeling that can be easily manipulated, but a fierce commitment to honoring and protecting everyone – whether they have a boat or not.

Truth and love need to go together.

Mark Beckwith is a retired bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Newark, N.J. He lives in Jaffrey.