Tony Hendra: Father Joe - The Moth | Wave AI Podcast Notes

Summary

Summary of "Tony Hendra: Father Joe" from The Moth Podcast

In the August 30, 2010 episode of The Moth, acclaimed satirist Tony Hendra shares a deeply personal and transformative story titled "Father Joe." Recorded live at The Moth's mainstage in 2000, Hendra’s narrative explores themes of faith, identity, and the enduring impact of mentorship.

Early Life and Unconventional Path to Monasticism

Tony Hendra begins by reflecting on his upbringing as a Catholic, which he juxtaposes with his later career in satire. He humorously notes, “Catholics had a rather unfair advantage in the satire game in that they spent their formative years with men in skirts” (02:06). This blend of reverence and ridicule sets the tone for his exploration of faith through a satirical lens.

At 14, Hendra finds himself entangled in a tumultuous love affair with a married Catholic woman. This scandal leads him and her husband to seek counsel from Father Joe at Caw Abbey, an idyllic monastery on the Isle of Wight. Hendra describes Father Joe as “absolutely hilarious” with a “big thick triangular nose like a groundhog” (02:06), highlighting the priest’s unique ability to blend humor with spiritual guidance.

Life at Caw Abbey and Influence of Father Joe

Hendra recounts his three-year sojourn at Caw Abbey, where he immerses himself in monastic life. He shares, “I spent the last three years of my school career studying for monkhood. In fact, you could say I was a teenage monk” (02:06). The monastery, with its vast oak forests and serene beaches, becomes a sanctuary where Hendra finds solace amidst global turmoil.

Central to his experience is Father Joe, whose unwavering faith and joyous demeanor profoundly influence Hendra. He remarks, “For Father Joe, the only thing that mattered was love. If you could find some love in a situation, however tangled it was, you could untangle it” (02:06). Father Joe’s emphasis on love and redemption helps Hendra navigate his personal struggles and spiritual doubts.

Transition to the World of Satire

Despite the tranquility of monastic life, Hendra's encounter with the satirical play "Beyond the Fringe" marks a pivotal shift. Attending the show “on a whim,” he is captivated by its bold critique of societal norms and institutions. Hendra states, “I went into that theater a monk and I came out as satirist” (06:45), illustrating his transition from a life of contemplation to one of comedic expression.

This moment represents Hendra’s entry into the "real world," where he grapples with the allure of laughter, fame, and secular success. However, he confesses a lingering connection to his monastic roots, suggesting that “deep down I still believed that celebrity too would pass like grass before the wind” (10:30).

The Decline of the Catholic Church and Lasting Lessons

Over the ensuing decades, Hendra observes the Catholic Church’s gradual decline, particularly criticizing the abandonment of traditional Gregorian chant in favor of more contemporary, yet less profound, music. He laments, “Father Joe just became older and more saintly, completely unfazed by all these assaults on his faith and his order and his religion and his music” (12:20), underscoring the priest’s steadfastness amidst institutional changes.

Hendra reflects on the profound impact Father Joe had on his life, especially after the priest’s passing. He shares a poignant memory of teaching Father Joe a World War II song, leading to an emotional farewell when Father Joe becomes gravely ill. Hendra remarks, “with him went my last connection to the real world, the world seen in the context of eternity” (13:50), highlighting the deep spiritual bond they shared.

Legacy and Closing Reflections

In his closing remarks, Hendra contemplates the enduring power of irony and the lessons imparted by Father Joe. He nostalgically sings an excerpt from the "Salve Regina," despite its departure from the cherished Gregorian chants, symbolizing his attempt to honor his mentor’s legacy in a modern context.

Hendra concludes by dedicating his rendition of the hymn to both The Moth community and Father Joe, encapsulating the blend of reverence and humor that defined his relationship with the priest.

Notable Quotes:

“For Father Joe, the only thing that mattered was love. If you could find some love in a situation, however tangled it was, you could untangle it.” — Tony Hendra (02:06)
“I went into that theater a monk and I came out as satirist.” — Tony Hendra (06:45)
“Deep down I still believed that celebrity too would pass like grass before the wind.” — Tony Hendra (10:30)
“With him went my last connection to the real world, the world seen in the context of eternity.” — Tony Hendra (13:50)

Tony Hendra's "Father Joe" is a touching homage to a mentor who embodied the harmonious blend of faith and humor. Through his storytelling, Hendra invites listeners to reflect on the profound influences that shape our identities and the enduring legacy of those who guide us through life's complexities.

Transcript

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Mike Birbiglia (1:31)

Welcome to the Moth Podcast. I'm Mike Birbiglia. So the Moth features true stories told live without notes. All stories on the podcast are taken from our ongoing storytelling series in New York, Los Angeles, Chicago and Detroit, and from our tour shows across the country. For more, visit the themoth.org okay, so the story you're about to hear by Tony Hendro was recorded live at the Moth mainstage all the way back in 2000. The theme of that night was Five Guys. No stories of men by men. Here's Tony.

Tony Hendra (2:06)

I was raised a Catholic, and later I became a satirist. And I've always felt that Catholics had a rather unfair advantage in the satire game in that they spent their formative years with men in skirts. But I had an even more unfair advantage in that I was once a man in a skirt myself, specifically a Benedictine monk. It all started when I was 14. I was having a torrid love affair with a woman twice my age, a Catholic married woman, and I'd actually gotten to second base with this woman. So I was madly in love. Of course, I didn't know it was second base because I was growing up in England. Well, this was not at all good for the marriage in question. And after a lot of weeping and Praying and kneeling and holding hands. It was decided for some reason that the husband and I should should go to a monastery known to this couple and there consult with the Holy Fathers. Go figure. We used to burn people at the stake. Now we bond and reconcile. Anyway, after a very awkward journey of four hours with this guy, we ended up in the Isle of Wight in the south of England at a monastery called Caw Abbey. Caw Abbey was idyllic. It was a thousand acre farm by the sea with great oak forests that came down to the beach. But what changed my life about Core Abbey was not the place itself, but the priest we'd come to see. Dom Joseph Warrilow. Father Joe, as he was known, was absolutely hilarious. He wore old granny glasses from World War I when he'd been a boy, and he had a big thick triangular nose like a groundhog. And he walked like a duck. With his big flat feet and his black sandals flapping and poking out of his skirts. He was just about as close as you could get to a cartoon monk, except that he was also a saint. Peace and joy and serenity and simplicity came off this guy like aftershave. And for so profoundly innocent a person, he was immensely knowledgeable about human relationships. And he soon put all our angst to rest. For Father Joe, the only thing that mattered was love. If you could find some love in a situation, however tangled it was, you could untangle it. And I didn't realize till much later how neatly he defused our little love triangle by making me fall in love with him. Now, I'd never come across a priest like this. To me, the church was a bunch of crusty, tipsy, money grubbing, mostly Irish men who were always telling me to keep my hands out of my pockets or I'd go to hell. Pocket billiards is a mortal sin, Hendra. Well, it is. But Father Joe taught me that the Church, although it was all that, was something else. It was a haven, a place for healing, a keeper of the light in the darkest of times, which these indeed were. And one thing really expressed that more than anything, which was the music These monks sang seven times a day, 365 days a year. It was called Gregorian chant. An extraordinary, amazing music. Very, very ancient, pre Christian probably went back to Egypt or Mesopotamia. And yet what made it soar was that it had an intense here and now belief in the Bible's message of redemption. Well, that was it. I spent the last three years of my school career studying for monkhood. In fact, you could say I was A teenage monk. Other guys had posters of Elvis or Chubby Checker or Chuck Berry on their bedrooms. My musical idol was St. Gregory. They agonized about whether to get a mod or a rocker haircut. I couldn't wait to shave a big bald spot in my hair. And as soon as school was over, in I went. It was everything that I possibly hoped for and more. Outside the monastery walls, the Cold War was at its most lunatic. Former colonies were bursting into bloody revolution. It was a terrible time. But Father Warrilow, Father Joe taught me a certain detachment from these things. Not escapism at all, on the contrary, great, great concern for all concerned on all sides. But a placing of all this in the context of eternity. For, as he said, the Bible says all this will pass. All things in the world will pass someday. Like grass before the wind. Like grass before the wind. Well, all those were the four or five most serene months of my life. They too passed like grass before the wind, because I was living a lie. When I'd been at school, I had unfortunately won a scholarship to Cambridge University and I had admitted to tell the good fathers this. When they found out, they insisted that I go take the degree. And then if I wanted to become a monk, they would welcome me with open arms. So I went to Cambridge and behaved like a pretty good little monk for a year or so. And then one night, on a whim, I went to the theater to catch a satirical review called beyond the Fringe. Now, beyond the Fringe was a seminal show, a landmark show. It was probably the first time in modern British history that satire had really socked it to the sacred goods of the nation, to the Church of England, to the Royal family, to Shakespeare, the BBC, the class system, even World War II. I could not believe that these things could be said in public or that they could be so funny. I went into that theater a monk and I came out as satirist. And in that moment I entered what we know as the real world. A world of laughter and money and travel and some success and excitement and applause. And I've regretted it ever since. For the next 30 odd years I never really stopped being a monk. And my little brushes with celebrity, when they came, never came to much. Perhaps because deep down I still believed that celebrity too would pass like grass before the wind. Something else happened in those 30 years. The Catholic Church essentially self destructed in the name of reform, it committed suicide theologically, liturgically and worst of all, musically. That glorious music, that glorious music, all 1500 years of it, was thrown out like A ball of old manuscript. And in its place came a slew of. Of banal, well meaning songs written by banal, well meaning nonentities whose musical gods were Melanie and John Denver. Through it all, Father Joe just became older and more saintly, completely unfazed by all these assaults on his faith and his order and his religion and his music. I used to think of him as a little lighthouse of faith blinking away across the Atlantic. But about 10 years ago, we celebrated the 60th anniversary of his monastic vows. And it struck me at the time that this guy had lived through all the horrors of that horrible century. World War I, the Great Depression, World War II, the Cold War, Vietnam, Cambodia, all the hideous genocides visited on the world by the Kremlin and the Pentagon and Whitehall in Beijing. And he was completely unmarked spiritually by all of it. This came home to me in a very odd way, because for some reason that I can no longer recall, in the midst of all this celebration, I taught him the words of an old World War II song that my father had once taught me many years before, and he was 80 by now, but he absolutely loved this song, which was completely new to him, even though it was 45 years after the end of World War II. And he marched up and down the cloister with his big old sandals flapping, bellowing this at the top of his lungs. You may know it. It goes like this. Hitler has only got one ball. Goering has two, but very small. Himmler is somewhat similar, and poor old Goebbels got no balls. At two years ago he became very sick, and fearing the worst, I went to see him and I took along my little son Sebastian, 6 years old, because I knew that he adored children and it might help. And I wanted Sebastian to be able to say someday that he'd once kissed a saint. And the look in that old man's eyes when Sebastian did just that was like a window into heaven. He died three weeks later, and I wept for days. And I'm old enough to have lost many dear friends, but this was unlike any other, because with him went my last connection to the real world, the world seen in the context of eternity, to the few final things that I actually held sacred that were beyond the reach of satire. And because satire and the sacred have a deep symbiosis, it's even possible that the satire died with him too. Not, however, the irony. Irony never dies. The day after he died, I went into a Catholic church here in New York, one of those big old Gothic barns up on the Upper west side, and there in front of me on the pew was one of these new modern hymnals and I opened it completely at random and read these words. Hail Queen Mother of Mercy, Our sweet life and hope all hail, we cry out to you for grace. Please don't turn away your face lest we should in our journey fail. Awful. Ghastly. Melanie has a lot to answer for. And I thought back across the years to that faraway boy standing in a Campbell lit church surrounded by the men of peace he so, so wanted to be one of while we sang the exquisite Latin words that this wretched doggerel was trying to approximate. It's called the Salve Regina Tale to the Queen and it's one of the oldest hymns in the Catholic Church, and ironically it was Father Joe's favorite. The Salve is a kind of half lullaby, half love ballad which has been sung at bedtime in the last office of the day by countless good men and women down through the centuries. And since you're never likely to hear it in the church again, I'd like to try and sing it for you here tonight. So this is for the Moth and for Joe, and given these surroundings, it might be a first. Salve regino German des et flenters in hakla cremarum vale o Clements O P O dul jes virgo Maria thank you.