Anu Teodorescu interned in John Lewis’s Washington D.C. office during this spring’s 2020 Semester in Washington D.C. Program and offers these thoughts on her time working for the Congressman:

Just inside the door of the late Congressman John Lewis’ personal office hung a painting. Unlike the black and white photographs it was displayed beside, this picture was a simple one, though it captured a sentiment no less important than the snapshots of historic figures and nameless individuals frozen in their fight for freedom. Painted in primary colors, the picture showed a young black boy reading aloud from a book that he held in his hands. At his feet stood a row of chickens, looking up at him in earnest, mesmerized.

I spent much of my time interning in Congressman Lewis’ office looking at this picture; I spent more time feeling like one of those chickens. Not because I felt helpless, afraid, or wildly out of my league as one might imagine a Calvin student interning for such a man would feel, but rather because each time he came into the office—which was not often after his December 29 cancer diagnosis—I was mesmerized by his presence, his energy, his voice. I found myself soaking up every word and idea, internalizing as much as I possibly could in the brief moments I got to spend with him. The conviction with which he spoke on issues of inequality, the humility he emanated as a 17-term congressman, the history he helped shape—all of it was indicative of his inherent eloquence, sincerity, and resolve.

One of my first internship projects involved sifting through and organizing short video clips of his time on the Ways & Means Committee. Likely a project too tedious and time-consuming for his staffers, I considered the task both fascinating and informative; listening to him deliver speeches, question witnesses, and voice his beliefs on everything from maternal mortality to IRS tax code was a task I thoroughly enjoyed.

I spent a large portion of my time speaking with constituents from Georgia’s Fifth Congressional District. I worked on various projects for staffers, researching everything from parking reform to issues affecting women in poverty. I opened thousands of letters from people all over the country and the world, each one expressing their love and admiration for the Congressman. I prepared his binders for Ways & Means hearings and laid out his newspapers. I attended briefings, and I wrote memos for staffers and letters to constituents. I helped draft bits and pieces of H.R. 7546, a bill focused on helping medically underserved communities access resources in the face of COVID-19. And one of my final tasks as an intern involved poster board, balloons, cake, and half of Capitol Hill.

In honor of his 80th birthday, our office threw a surprise party. I was one of the many who wished him happiness and health that day, but even so, I felt a deep and genuine connection with a man who spent every day of his life preaching love and working to see it reflected in our country’s laws. While it was surreal to be surrounded by so many influential members of Congress, it was also bittersweet, as it turned out to be the last chance I’d ever have to speak with Congressman Lewis.

The awe never went away, and even now, months after the end of my internship and just a few weeks after his passing, I reread the words he wrote in Walking With the Wind: A Memoir of the Movement and feel like a chicken all over again.

"I preached to my birds just about every night. I would get them all into the henhouse, settle them onto their roosts, and then stand in the doorway and speak to them, reciting pieces of the Bible, the same verses I memorized for Sunday school. They would sit very quietly, some slightly moving their heads back and forth, mesmerized, I guess, by the sound of my voice. I could imagine that they were my congregation. And me, I was a preacher."