Graham Greene’s The Power and the Glory is a stark, unflinching look at what happens when a society turns its back on God. Written in 1940, this novel digs into the chaos of a world stripped of moral anchors—something we’re seeing far too much of today. Set during Mexico’s brutal anti-Catholic purges, it follows a nameless “whisky priest” on the run, grappling with his own failures while clinging to the remnants of his faith. Now, let me be clear: this isn’t some feel-good parable. It’s a raw, challenging story that forces you to confront the cost of abandoning divine truth. And frankly, we need more of that in an age where “woke” nonsense insists morality is whatever we feel like today.
The plot is simple but brutal. A flawed priest, drowning in alcohol and guilt, flees persecution in a state where Christianity is outlawed. He’s no hero—he’s fathered a child, doubts his calling, and wallows in self-pity. Yet even in his brokenness, he can’t shake the weight of his role as God’s servant. Meanwhile, a fanatical lieutenant hunts him, convinced that eradicating religion will free the people. Greene doesn’t sugarcoat the messiness. The priest’s sacraments—like the Eucharist he scrambles to deliver—feel almost desperate, a far cry from the bold, unapologetic faith we’re called to. But here’s the kicker: even this pitiful figure becomes a vessel for grace. That’s Greene’s point. God works through cracked pots. The question is, do we still believe He can?
Let’s talk about Greene’s approach. As a Protestant, I’ll admit the Catholic fixation on sacraments grates. The priest’s obsession with ritual—like that last communion he frantically offers—feels empty without genuine repentance. Scripture teaches faith alone saves, not works or ceremonies. Yet Greene’s genius lies in showing how even a corrupt system can’t fully smother God’s light. The lieutenant’s “utopia,” built on godless logic, crumbles into tyranny. Sound familiar? Look at our institutions, our media—anywhere God’s shoved aside. Without Him, we’re left with nothing good.
Greene’s writing is sharp, almost merciless. He doesn’t let you look away from the priest’s sins or the lieutenant’s cruelty. But in that honesty, there’s hope. The whisky priest’s final act—choosing martyrdom over escape—hints at redemption. It’s a flicker of grace in the darkness. Still, I wish Greene had pushed further. The Catholic lens muddies the waters. True salvation isn’t in rituals or clergy; it’s in Christ alone. Paul didn’t say, “Work out your sacraments with fear and trembling.” He said, “Believe on the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved.” That’s the gospel clarity missing here.
Reading this book felt like a gut punch—in a good way. It forced me to ask: Are we any better than that God-hating lieutenant? Sure, we’re not outlawing churches (yet), but how casually we’ve traded scripture for social media, prayer for political slogans. The priest’s world is a mirror. When we abandon truth, we don’t get freedom—we get chaos. And let’s be real: Greene’s Mexico isn’t so different from our own cities, where churches empty while addiction and despair skyrocket. The book’s power isn’t in its Catholic trappings but in its warning: Without God, we’re lost.
So would I recommend it? Absolutely—but with a caveat. Take the priest’s sacramental angst with a grain of salt. Let his story drive you back to the real solution: God’s Word. After you finish, crack open the Bible. Start with Romans. It’s all there—no priests, no rituals, just Christ crucified. Greene’s novel is a dark road, but it leads to a light we can’t afford to ignore.
What’s chilling is how relevant this 80-year-old book feels. The lieutenant’s hatred of religion mirrors today’s militant secularism. “Why not focus on feeding bodies instead of souls?” he sneers. But Greene shows the folly of that. Feed the body, starve the soul, and what’s left? A hollow shell. We’re seeing it now: record wealth, record depression. Coincidence?
In the end, The Power and the Glory isn’t about Catholicism. It’s about the void where God should be. And that’s a message every Christian needs today. The world’s selling a lie—that we’ve outgrown faith. This book screams the truth: We never needed it more.
