For Wilshire Baptist Church
Last week I did something I’ve been putting off for years: I opened up my old camera bag, threw away some odds and ends, and took the rest of it to a camera shop. Most of the contents I simply pushed across the counter for them to recycle in whatever way they wished, but I did want to be paid for my Canon 70-to-150-mm zoom lens.
When I bought the lens in 1980, it was one of the finest things I had ever bought. It felt good in my hands, looked great on my camera, and most important it expanded my range and capabilities as an amateur photographer. Although I wasn’t completely an amateur because photography was part of my toolbox as a newspaper reporter. I often went to interviews with both a camera and a notepad in hand.
But then in 1990, my home was burglarized and the thieves took my camera and flash off a desk along with other stuff in the house. They overlooked the camera bag on the floor, leaving me with the zoom lens and other pieces of equipment that were useless without the camera body. Job changes took away my need to carry a camera, and then digital technology changed the way pictures were taken. I bought a small digital camera that satisfied my personal needs, and then cell phone cameras further simplified the process. Instead of going on vacation with a handful of film rolls and rationing my shots or searching shop windows for the yellow-and-red Kodak sign, I can shoot dozens if not hundreds of photos. What’s more, I can get instant gratification rather than waiting days to see my photos. It was a no brainer to sell the lens. Even though the camera shop had lots of camera bodies, there’s simply no going back to the way it once was done.
I feel the same way about some of the changes that have come as a result of the pandemic. I hear people say, “I wish we could go back to the way it was,” and even, “I can’t wait till we go back to the way it was,” but we can’t. Too much has changed. We can only go forward.
While health issues have been difficult and tragic in too many cases, some of the changes to our everyday life have taken hold and caught on. Instead of driving all over town looking for something, I can find it online and have it delivered. Restaurants have found whole new markets with drive-up and home delivery; some have built partitions between tables and booths that add intimacy to the dine-in experience. Businesses of all types have discovered they don’t need all their employees sitting in offices and cubicles all day every day, and employees have discovered they don’t need to commute to make a living. I still need to interview people for much of my work, but I can do it “in person” with Zoom and never leave the house.
The jury is still out on institutions such as schools and churches, where “community” is such an important piece of the experience. We’re still finding our way on what works and what doesn’t. We still need to learn, we still need to worship and pray, and while academic and spiritual growth are personal, we need each other to reach our personal best. Many times we do some of our best work together.
As I was waiting at the camera shop counter to get paid, another customer stood at a shelf nearby getting advice from a clerk on what grade of film to buy. Yes, film — like we all once used. He was considerably younger than me, and I don’t know if he was a devotee of the old ways or had found some old equipment and was experimenting for the first time. I know for sure that he doesn’t work for a modern publication or business communications department because they wouldn’t be patient with the cost or time it would take to process his photos.
By the way, before I went to the camera shop, I found my lens online in an ad from a 1982 issue of Popular Photography. It cost $172 back then. The camera shop gave me $10. I could’ve gotten more for it on ebay, but it doesn’t really matter. The memories I captured with it are priceless.