The Holy Fool
I grew up hearing Boudreaux jokes—usually from Uncle Bubba or my pawpaw, who’d been waiting all evening for someone to give him an opening.
If you’re not from Southeast Louisiana, you might mistake them for Cajun versions of the old village idiot stories.
Me? I think Boudreaux has been badly misunderstood.
But before I try to convince you of that, here’s an example for the uninitiated.
Thibodeaux and Boudreaux walked into a convenience store. As they were looking at the candy, Thibodeaux stole three chocolate bars.
When they left the store, Thibodeaux said to Boudreaux, “I’m da best thief ever. I stole three chocolate bars and no one saw me put dem in my pocket. You can’t beat dat.”
Boudreaux replied, “You want to see somet’ing better? Let’s go back to da shop and I’ll show you real stealing. I’ll steal while da shopkeeper is watching me, and he won’t even know.”
So they went back inside, and Boudreaux walked up to the counter asking the cashier, “Do you want to see a great magic trick?”
The cashier replied, “Yes.”
Boudreaux said, “Give me three chocolate bars.”
The cashier gave him three chocolate bars, and Boudreaux ate all three.
“But where’s the magic?” the cashier asked.
To which Boudreaux replied, “Check Thibodeaux’s pocket.”
The trick isn’t that Boudreaux is smarter than everyone else. It’s that he’s playing a different game entirely.
Boudreaux doesn’t just think outside the box.
“What box?”
Poor Thibodeaux.
Need more convincing? Grandpa Howard was a preacher, but he also knew a considerable number of Boudreaux jokes. This was his favorite.
The day finally arrived. Boudreaux died and went to Heaven — relieved not to have ended up somewhere else. When he reached the Pearly Gates, he was surprised to find them closed, with St. Peter waiting on the other side.
St. Peter said, “Well, Boudreaux, it is certainly good to see you. We have heard a lot about you. I must tell you, though, the place is filling up fast, and we have been administering an entrance examination for everyone. The test is short, but you have to pass it before you can get into Heaven.”
Boudreaux responded, “It shore is good to be here, St. Peter, sir. But nobody never told me ’bout no entrance exam. I shore hope dat da test ain’t too hard, cher. Life was a big enough test as it was, mon ami.”
St. Peter continued, “Yes, I know, Boudreaux, but the test is only three questions.
“First: What two days of the week begin with the letter T?
“Second: How many seconds are there in a year?
“Third: What is God’s name?”
Boudreaux left to think the questions over. He returned the next day and saw St. Peter, who waved him forward and said, “Now that you have had a chance to think the questions over, tell me your answers, Boudreaux.”
Boud replied, “Well, da first one—which two days in da week begin with the letter T? Shoot, dat one is easy. Dat would be Today and Tomorrow.”
St. Peter’s eyes went wide. “Boudreaux, that’s not exactly what I had in mind, but I take your point. I’ll give you credit for that one. Now, the next question?”
“How many seconds in a year? Now dat one is harder,” replied Boud. “But I thunk and thunk about dat, and I guess da only answer can be twelve.”
Astounded, St. Peter said, “Twelve? Twelve! Boudreaux, how in Heaven’s name could you come up with twelve seconds in a year?”
Boudreaux replied, “Shoot, dere is got to be twelve: January 2nd, February 2nd, March 2nd…”
“Hold it,” St. Peter interrupted. “I see where you’re going. That was not quite what I had in mind, but I’ll give you credit for it. Now for the third and final question. You have to get this one right. What is God’s name?”
“Shore,” Boudreaux replied. “It’s Howard.”
St. Peter stared at him. “Howard? Boudreaux—how in God’s name did you arrive at that?”
“Shoot, St. Pete, dat was da easiest one of dem all,” Boudreaux replied. “We say it every Sunday in Mass: Our Father who art in Heaven, Howard be thy name.”
St. Peter opened the Pearly Gates and said, “Go on in, Boudreaux.”
Poor St. Peter.
Mind you, St. Peter was a fisherman himself. You’d think he’d have seen Boudreaux coming.
God’s name is unknowable. But Boudreaux, rather than trying to sound wise—or becoming intimidated by the idea of an all-knowing, all-powerful being—is happily on a casual, first-name basis with him.
I would like to imagine I am Boudreaux in this story. I am considerably more likely to be St. Peter, standing at the gate with my examination and my correct answers.
Who is more foolish? Boudreaux, or the theological scholar who knows everything about God but doesn’t have him as a friend?
But my absolute favorite one begins in a bar.
A big man has been bragging all evening about his fighting skills. He’s demonstrated karate from China, judo from Japan, and some mysterious nerve pinch from Korea for anyone willing to watch. Unfortunately for poor Boudreaux, the demonstration becomes personal.
“Karate chop from China!”
Down goes Boudreaux.
He quietly climbs back onto his stool and resumes drinking his beer.
A few minutes later:
“Judo from Japan!”
Down he goes again.
Back onto the stool.
Then comes the nerve pinch.
“This one’s from Korea!”
Boudreaux hits the floor for a third time. This time, he gets up, walks out of the bar without saying a word, and disappears.
The bully goes right back to talking.
Ten minutes later, the door opens.
Boudreaux comes in carrying a two-by-four.
Without a word, he steps behind the braggart and cracks him squarely across the back.
Looking down at him, Boudreaux nods and says:
“Two-by-four from Home Depot.”
Then he climbs back onto his stool and finishes his beer.
The court jester was sometimes the only person allowed to tell the king the truth. Lieutenant Columbo did it in a wrinkled raincoat. He shuffled into the room, apologized for taking up everyone’s time, and asked one more innocent question while the cleverest person there considered him an incompetent—and it has to be said—fool.
Boudreaux does it with a two-by-four.
None of these characters needs you to think he is the smartest person in the room. That is what gives him room to notice what the smartest person in the room has missed. The holy fool is not trying to be impressive. He is trying to tell the truth. And make you laugh.
The laughter helps.
Our culture prizes being impressive and is suspicious of humility, assuming it’s either weakness or an act. But the wisest people I know are more likely to be paying close attention. They listen more than they talk. They laugh easily, especially at themselves. And they seem strangely unconcerned with whether anyone notices them.
Chesterton once wrote that angels can fly because they take themselves lightly. The unassuming people we are quickest to underestimate are sometimes the ones from whom we have the most to learn.
Perhaps that’s why we all love Boudreaux jokes.
The joke isn’t really on him.
It just may be on you—and me.
P.S. For the die-hard Boudreaux fans—and those who are still not convinced—I offer a little lagniappe.
After a long day of fishing, Boudreaux is heading back along the pier with two big fish in a bucket when the game warden stops him.
“License?” the warden asks.
Boudreaux shakes his head.
“I don’t need one. Dese ain’t fish I caught. Dey my pets. Every day I bring ’em down to da bayou. I let ’em swim around awhile, and when I whistle, dey jump right back in da bucket so we can go home.”
The warden folds his arms. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
“Watch.” Boudreaux tips the bucket over and both fish disappear into the bayou.
The two men stand there.
One minute.
Two minutes.
Finally, the warden says, “Well? Aren’t you going to whistle for your fish to come back?”
Boudreaux looks at him blankly.
“What fish?”
Without another word, he ambles back to his truck, whistling.