Philip Lawler’s “Ghost Runner”

Fr Longenecker reviews a new novel by Phil Lawler that "takes us into the corridors of power both in diocese and D.C., reminding us how venality, vanity, corruption, immorality, and lack of faith have an impact on ordinary people."

From The Imaginative Conservative

By Fr Dwight Longenecker

Philip Lawler rightly observes that the core problem in the Catholic Church, and at the heart of American Christianity in general, is a loss of faith. In his novel “Ghost Runner,” he takes us into the corridors of power both in diocese and D.C., reminding us how venality, vanity, corruption, immorality, and lack of faith have an impact on ordinary people.

Philip Lawler has been commenting on Catholic and cultural issues for decades. From his experience of the turmoil in the church in Boston in the 1980s, Lawler has crafted a novel that does not shy away from the still-open wounds of corruption, sexual abuse, and spiritual decay that rocked Boston forty years ago.

Lawler’s protagonist is Father Andy Miller—a newly ordained priest who is troubled by a super spiritual parishioner and a supernatural gift for healing. Sent to a psychologist to get sorted out, Father Andy has a colleague named Father Ed who has his own problems: loss of faith and boundary issues with the boys in the youth group. Meanwhile, the older priests hobnob and gossip about diocesan politics, personalities, and power plays. Echoing his own political activity in the 80s, Lawler weaves in a sub-plot involving Father Andy’s brother—a lawyer on Reagan’s team, whose conniving in Washington, D.C., and meddling in El Salvador has the Catholic prelates biting their nails.

Father Andy’s adventures take us into the corridors of power both in diocese and D.C. and make us remember how venality, vanity, corruption, immorality, and lack of faith have an impact on ordinary people (like Father Andy) who just want to do their job.

But there is more to Lawler’s novel. The conflict Father Andy encounters has a spiritual dimension. That he is considered the problem child by the diocesan priestly caste (rather than faithless youth-group priest Father Ed), indicates not only managerial incompetence but an astonishing level of spiritual and moral blindness. The older priests and diocesan politburo seem concerned to keep the show on the road, shift blame, avoid responsibility, and keep the money (and whisky) flowing. Any sign of creativity, genuine faith or heartfelt pastoral concern is considered a dangerous (or at least troublesome) anomaly.

So, for example, when Father Andy actually likes hearing confessions and doesn’t mind that his line is longer than the other priests’, he is considered an oddball. When he is patient with Betsy— the saintly but eccentric old lady, he’s suspected of not really playing on the same side as his fellow priests—and when Andy’s healing ministry blossoms (to his own bewilderment), he is sent to a psychologist.

In the midst of endless introspection amongst Catholics about the problems in the contemporary church, and amidst numerous mis-diagnoses and shallow prescriptions for change, Lawler rightly assesses the core problem. The problem in the Catholic Church is not whether the liturgy is in Latin or English or whether the music is plainchant or a pastiche of Broadway tunes and soft rock. The real problem is not bland sermons, brutal architecture, and bad vestments. At the heart of American Christianity is a loss of faith. By “loss of faith” I mean that we have forgotten THE faith or what (in my Evangelical days) we called “the old time religion”.

Caught up in secular politics, money matters, culture wars, liturgical quarrels, and obsessed with the social gospel, we have sidelined the simple, old story of a human race alienated from a loving Father, and the only answer to this alienation: the saving sacrifice of the Lord Jesus Christ on the old, rugged cross. This is the sacred heart of the Catholic faith, but it seems American Christians (and I include Protestants) would rather focus their minds, hearts, and actions on almost anything else.

Lawler’s Father Andy is a sincere, young priest who believes not only in Catholic doctrine, but in spiritual truths, which can be lived out in sacramental ceremonies that transform lives. As such he represents the only future the church can hope for.

Writing as a priest of nearly twenty years experience in the Catholic Church, I wish I could say Lawler’s Boston Catholicism of the 1980s has faded away like big hair, yuppies, and VCRs. It has not been my experience. Instead, the same secular-based assessments, shallow solutions, and self-satisfied protectionism abound in the church. The same incompetence, suspicion and fear of risk circulate under the masks of “prudence” or “discernment”. Lawler’s fiction is therefore not forty years old. It is not even forty days old.

Like most first novels, Lawler’s Ghost Runner would have benefited from a ruthless editor. Much of the tale comes to us through Father Andy’s monologues to the psychologist. The monologues become not only repetitive and tiresome, but I fear they are a shortcut for the novelist. I’m reminded always, in my own halting attempts at writing fiction, to “show, not tell”. After a few pages of Father Andy’s monologues, I didn’t care about him any more. Too often he told us about dramatic episodes that I wish we had been drawn into by direct and vivid storytelling. Consequently, while I’m grateful for Lawler’s storytelling and its commentary on the church, I’m not convinced by it as a novel per se.

Nevertheless, it’s worth a read because the action not only spotlights important problems in the church today, but it also shows us in Father Andy the sort of young priest who could help set things straight. The folks at Sophia Institute Press (publishing under the Crisis imprint) should be congratulated for producing Lawler’s novel. It is a stirring tale with plenty to ponder.

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Fr Longenecker’s latest book—Bloodshed and Blessing—Modern Man and the Meaning of Sacrifice will be published in 2026 by Sophia Institute Press.

The featured image is courtesy of Pixabay.