Psalm of a Cigar Smoker

One priest's cigar crusade.

(page 1 of 2)

In the beginning, there was the seed. And the seed was void of worth or purpose. Thus, the workers planted the seed, harvested the crop and rolled it into a new form, one that brought profit, pleasure and controversy.

This creation, which man called a cigar, traveled many miles to a land of wheat and wind, where a priest named H plucked it from a box and held a lighter to its end.

And then there was light. The light shone at the foot of the cigar, and H saw that it was good.

But not all saw the cigar as good. Doctors deemed it as harmful. State and city officials began discussions of banishing it from public. Some business owners took matters into their own hands by forbidding it from their establishments. Even after a citywide smoking ordinance passed, the debate raged on.

Yet H remained steadfast. At the heart of the nation’s Bible Belt, the most unlikely of people—a Bible-wielding, scotch-drinking, Roman Catholic priest—became the face of a small group that defended the cigar. He held smoke-ins with fellow cigar smokers. He wrote passionate letters on his website, holy-smoke.com, urging his peers to resist proposed state and city smoking bans. He testified to the Senate Judiciary Committee alongside cigar manufacturers and bar owners to oppose a possible statewide smoking law. He fought to host his annual cigar dinner fundraiser, planned for its 12th consecutive year this month.

Like any devout religious man, H spoke with fervor and conviction for that which he believed. And H believed profoundly in certain things, including God and cigars.

*****

We like our priests pure. We like our priests consumed by a singular cause, one that extends beyond flesh and bone and, as a result, in some way detaches them from the rest of humanity. We like them dressed in black and white, the same way we attempt to see the world in terms of right and wrong. And therein lies the paradox of Rev. H Jay Setter.

You’ve heard of him, of course. How can an outspoken, 6-foot, 5-inch priest who appears in Cigar Aficionado and media outlets across America go unnoticed in his own hometown? How can a well-read priest with copies of New York Magazine lying near the Bible not stir up some curiosity from both the devout and the skeptical? How can a priest who wears his humanity so openly on his sleeve not defy expectations?

The first time I meet Father H, he is not wearing a white collar. Instead, he is clad in a button-down shirt and jeans, and he’s returning to the rectory at All Saints Church after eating lunch with a coalition of cigar smokers. Despite his imposing stature, he immediately comes across as warm and welcoming. He extends a firm handshake. “Father H,” he says, as if an introduction is necessary.

We climb a set of stairs to his den. At the stairs’ summit, a photo-covered wall is filled with images of Father H posing with cigar-toting celebrities like Jim Belushi and Chuck Norris. We continue past the photos and into the priest’s room. Thousands of cigars line a wall with five humming humidors. A case with cigar memorabilia stands in one corner, next to photos of H posing next to cigar manufacturers, men he considers family. A black and white sign with the profile of a bushy-browed author reads: “I smoke in moderation. I only have one cigar at a time. — Mark Twain.”

The 49-year-old priest plops down in a leather chair and invites me to do the same. Then, fittingly, we start from the beginning.

*****

H. His name needs only a solitary letter. By now, he’s heard the question countless times, but he still doesn’t have a simple answer. “I’m not sure this is exactly, unequivocally true,” he warns. To the best of his understanding, his father, Harry Joseph Setter—who later changed his name to H Jay Setter—made a pact with his mother that they would name their son H if they had a boy. So, when the second of three sons came into the world, they held true to their pact. “Of course, one of the follow-up questions is always, ‘Well, what’s your middle name?” he says. “So I say, ‘Jay,’ and they’re thinking just the letter, but it’s actually spelled out.”

Before there was ministry, there was music. As a boy, H frequented the orchestra with his aunt Marge, who also took him to Mass on Sundays. At the orchestra, the two would sit and listen to the sounds of strings and horns rising from the stage and filling the heavens. Years later, these moments influenced H to major in music performance at Wichita State University.

It was while in college that H discovered his other great passion. He had dabbled with machine-made cigars and a briar pipe that he found at a yard sale, but it was around the time of his freshman year at WSU that he strolled into Lawson Pipe Store. Without knowing what to look for, he picked out a Punch Rothschild, lit it up and took his first puff of a hand-rolled cigar. “Boy, it was great,” he recalls with a smile.

H did more than smoke cigars—he studied them. He collected cigar memorabilia. He sampled different brands. He bought books on the subject. He developed a profound respect for cigar making—the way in which tobacco is grown through a time-consuming process, delicately rolled by craftsmen and then aged for years. And as he puffed with people from a spectrum of backgrounds, he realized something else, something that connected cigars with his first passion. “There is a certain camaraderie that comes with cigars that I have only found with one other thing in this world—music,” he says.

H graduated from WSU, obtained a master’s in music at Friends University and conducted chamber orchestras in McPherson and Wichita while still in his early 20s. He then reached a fork in the road. He was well on his way to a career as a conductor, but he felt another calling. “It wasn’t so much a conversion experience as an eye-opening experience,” he says. “I reevaluated some things and religion and faith came back into focus.” He applied to a summer institute led by legendary conductor Leonard Bernstein. As he waited for an acceptance letter, he mulled over the decision. “I guess that, like many people, I was looking for a sign,” he said. When he wasn’t accepted, he signed up to attend Mount St. Mary’s Seminary near Washington D.C. H devoted his life to another mission.