Political sorbet

By Jeff Long

"I don't know much about cameras."

It was 1980. Capitol Hill. I was on spring break in my final semester of college. After having spent part of the previous summer working as an intern in Washington, D.C., I had returned to look for a job after graduation.

One of my suitemates at Westminster College (Pennsylvania, not Fulton, Missouri) used to call me "Congressman," if that gives an idea of my vocational leanings at the time. My limited experience on the Hill got me in the door for an interview.

I'll not soon forget the very first question: "If you got this job, you might have to spend as much as six months to a year in Hawaii. Would that be a problem for you?"

Hoping I appeared as nonchalant and blase as possible despite all my nerve endings firing in excitement, my reply was, "No, I think that'd be fine."

The congressman's chief legislative aide, whom I understood would do the hiring, then asked about my abilities.

If I'd answered the question dishonestly back then, it is possible there would be many, many miles on my frequent flier account today.

The temptation to lie or at least to shade the truth was palpable. I'd walked the halls of the Cannon House Office Building as an intern during the waning days of the Carter administration. Going back was quite an appealing prospect.

When asked about photography, the unvarnished truth -- the epigram of this column above -- slipped out. It was the wrong answer. The body language of the room changed. I'd failed the interview.

Life sometimes comes down to moments.

If I had bluffed my way past that long-ago query, if I'd answered ambiguously or vaguely, a second job interview may have been finagled. The outcome might have been a job as a congressional aide. If. If. If.

Occasionally, one of my Old Testament students at Southeast Missouri State University will make a remark about God having a plan for our lives. The inference is that God has a single, narrowly targeted, best path laid out for each of us to walk in our life's journey.

If we fall off that path or miss it entirely, the thinking is that we won't be all we could have been. We won't be fulfilled.

When a student talks or writes about the certainty of "God's plan," my reply is gentle but clear. The short version is: poppycock.

Here's the elaboration: We have choices to make. Some of the choices are well thought out, others are made in haste, and still others are forced upon us by circumstances.

God walks with us in all of those decisions. Not "a" plan, but multiple plans. God is dynamic and loves us through all the decisions we make.

With the benefit of hindsight, with my life now in late middle age, I'm glad the political life steered past me.

Some might argue the pastorate has a political element. Since "polis," the Greek word from which politics is derived, means "people," this writer can make no quarrel. The pastorate is a people-centered vocation, and politics inevitably are part and parcel of church life.

Just the same, it has been a blessing to spend so much of my adult life working in the church rather than in politics.

Two weeks ago, at the behest of my youngest daughter, I attended a campaign rally in Cape for a down-ballot candidate. From the rhetoric of the candidate, an able and accomplished man, and from his supporters came innuendo, the casting of aspersion, conspiracy theories, name-calling -- not to mention distortions and exaggeration. A good soaking bath would have felt good after that particular hour.

With the election now looming before us, it is important to remember there are good people in elective office and in political life generally. I'm glad to know a number of them.

Good people need to be attracted to public service, and we should encourage talent we see around us to aspire to those positions. But such a life was not for me; it would have chewed me up.

It seems to me we need a political sorbet in America. Something to cleanse the palate after the ugliest and most despicable campaign of my lifetime. So many people on both sides should be ashamed of themselves. Yet we need leaders.

When the votes are in, we have to find a way to support and encourage the elected while at the same time vowing never to let this happen again.

So, yes, I am glad my Plan A didn't work out. I have no regret, in retrospect, of having said I knew next to nothing about operating a camera.