In 2001, while serving as religion editor for The Oklahoman, I wrote a Saturday column on a group of lawmakers involved in an unusual endeavor:

I hid my jewelry and locked my wallet in the car. I had gone to a scary place — the state Capitol — to investigate a tip from Rep. Lance Cargill, R-Harrah.

If the shenanigans that my wife's former Harrah High School classmate reported were true, I figured our readers needed to know.

Cargill told of after-dark meetings involving 15 to 20 legislators. The lawmakers, he confided, assemble most Monday nights in an area living room.

They devour sandwiches or fried chicken. Then they loosen their ties, roll up their sleeves and get down to business.

The business of Southern Gospel singing, that is.

I regret to inform you that this undertaking entails no dark, smoky rooms and no money changing hands, although the gatherings were opened to Capitol lobbyist Jeff Applekamp when the politicians learned he could play a mean bass guitar.

Those who follow Oklahoma politics may recall that Cargill later served as speaker of the state House. He resigned as speaker in 2008 after failing to file personal income tax returns and repeatedly paying property taxes on his law office late. Perhaps he was too busy belting out Gospel tunes?

But seriously, I was reminded of the Oklahoma Capitol crooners when I read an in-depth Los Angeles Times story this week on a pastor who aims to deliver California lawmakers from temptation.