It never got old.
No matter how many times one walked into the simple sanctuary of Maranatha Baptist Church, there was always some wisdom to be gleaned from Jimmy Carter’s measured, Bible-inspired words.
This was another side of the 39th president, a down-to-earth man with strong convictions who somehow found time to teach Sunday School classes when he wasn’t building homes for the needy, or advocating for fair elections. Were doing, or not helping, to eliminate terrible diseases. ,
For young and old, straight and gay, believers and unbelievers, black and white and brown, Maranatha was a far-flung destination in southwest Georgia where Carter, even in his 90s, remained connected with his fellow citizens. . World.
Anyone who wanted to visit his hometown of Plains, with its blinking warning light and residents numbering in the hundreds, was rewarded with access to a white-haired man who once held the highest office in the country .
Carter taught his Sunday school class about twice a month to accommodate the crowds, which sometimes exceeded 500. (On other Sundays, no more than a few dozen regulars and a handful of visitors usually attended services).
Here, the former Commander-in-Chief and one-time First Lady, his wife of more than seven decades, were alone, Mr Jimmy and Ms Roslyn. And when it came to worshiping with them, everyone was welcome.
sunday with mr jimmy
Before the former president entered the sanctuary, with a bomb-sniffing dog outside and Secret Service agents scattered around, a strict set of rules were laid out by Ms. Jan Williams, a longtime church member and friend of the Carters. Will be prepared. She would have made quite a drill sergeant.
It felt like a good cop, bad cop routine. Ms. Jan is explaining rules that you know came straight from Mr. Jimmy, who studied nuclear physics and approached all things with the methodical mind of an engineer.
Most importantly for those wishing to be photographed with the Carters – and almost everyone did – you must stay for the main 11am church service. Taking pictures started around noon.
If you left the church grounds before then, it was not possible to return. If you stayed, you followed the rules. No autograph. No handshake. No attempts at conversation beyond a “good morning” or “thank you” letter.
Carter, consistently in sports jacket, slacks and bolo tie, would begin his lesson by walking around the sanctuary, asking with a straight face if there were any visitors – which always elicited a laugh – and where they were from. In my many trips to Meran, I’m sure I’ve heard of all 50 states, not to mention a series of far-flung countries.
If anyone has visited Washington, D.C. , the answer was predictable. “I lived there,” the one-time president would say with his toothy smile.
Carter’s Bible lessons focused on central themes: God gives life, loves unconditionally and offers the freedom to live a fully successful life. But the text usually began with an anecdote about what he was doing or his perspective on world affairs.
Carter might talk about building homes with Habitat for Humanity or lament America’s conflicts since World War II, he might talk about his work with The Elders, a group of former world leaders. , or talk about a trip out west to go trout fishing with Ted Turner. He might talk about the Carter Center’s successes in eradicating Guinea worm, or his long friendships with Willie Nelson and Bob Dylan.
“Willie Nelson is an old friend. He used to come to visit me at the White House,” Carter once said, gently touching on Nelson’s affection for weed.
“I don’t know what Willie and my kids did after I went to bed. I’ve heard the rumors,” the former president said with a sly smile and a wink that showed he believed every word.
My favorite: Carter talking about his latest book project and how he has long used the encyclopedia for research.
Carter decided that the collection was taking up too much space, so he boxed it up and set out to local schools and libraries, hoping someone would eagerly take a donation from the former president. Instead, they got a standard warning: Sorry, nobody uses encyclopedias anymore.
I miss the punchline. “How do I see things now?” asked a man born five years after the end of the First World War. pause. Then: “Google.”
memories of travels
During most of my visits to Maranatha, Carter would speak for 45 minutes without sitting down. His mind remained sharp, occasionally glancing at notes in the Bible, but as he reached his 90s, his body became more frail. He spoke openly about the ill effects of increasing age.
He resisted calls from church members to sit while he taught. I was there when they tried it for the first time in August 2018.
“I’m uncomfortable sitting,” he said, “but I think I’ll get used to it.”
Not at that time. Carter remained seated for less than 10 minutes before getting up. He remained standing on the table for the rest of the class.
Upon returning the following year, Carter had given up on using a white, remote-controlled chair. After climbing on board and – voila – the flick of a switch will slowly lift him off the lectern, visible to those sitting behind.
If there was not enough space in the sanctuary, rows of folding chairs were set up in the fellowship hall and some smaller classrooms. Carter’s lesson will be shown on a TV connected to the feed from the main room.
A disappointment for visitors? Perhaps. But going into the back room had its advantages.
Carter, who usually arrived about 15 minutes before the 10 a.m. lesson began, would swing by these rooms before heading to the sanctuary. He also used to answer some questions, which could not be done in front of a large crowd.
Following The Washington Post’s 2018 profile of the Carters’ regular Saturday night dinners at the home of friend Jill Stuckey, which included a one-off glass of “bargain-brand Chardonnay,” I asked Carter how many glasses she had a night. Had drunk alcohol earlier.
“I’ll say one thing,” Carter replied with a sly smile. Stucky, standing behind him, nodded her head and raised two fingers.
It didn’t matter where you sat – the main sanctuary or the back room – everyone got their picture taken with Mr. Jimmy and Ms. Roslyn. For many people this felt like the biggest reward.
When we first started attending, those photos were taken under a tree right outside the church. After being diagnosed with cancer in 2015, Carter and his wife pose with visitors inside the sanctuary. Carter liked to joke about what a burden it was to sit for all those photographs, which surely numbered in the hundreds of thousands.
After his final lesson he quipped, “I would love to take pictures with all of you.” “Actually, since I’m in church, I better say I’m willing to take pictures with all of you.”
For my family, those photos show a son growing from a boy to a man, with Mr. Jimmy and Ms. Rosalynn filling the frame. What treasures they are.
last lesson
Attendance at Carter’s Sunday school lessons declined during the Great Depression. But following the announcement of his cancer the crowds returned, with some queuing outside the church since the previous night.
Carter declared herself cancer-free, but other health challenges began to arise. After he slightly fractured his pelvis in a fall at his home in October 2019, the church announced that Carter would not be teaching his next class on November 3, a lesson we had planned to attend. Disappointed, we canceled our hotel reservation.
But Mr. Jimmy’s work was not done yet.
The church had canceled him without even investigating. He clarified that he is not canceling. We quickly booked again. Carter’s lesson that day, based on the Book of Job, was especially poignant in retrospect.
He said, “I’m going to start by asking you a very profound question.” “How many of you believe in life after death?”
Carter admitted that he had doubts for most of his life, even suffering from cancer, which eventually erased any doubts. When the end of this world comes he will be ready.
“After death we have nothing to fear,” Carter said with a reassuring smile.
At the end of his lesson, he challenges everyone to do a nice deed for a stranger. “I’ll hold you,” Carter promised.
She never had a chance.
His health continued to decline, sidelining him over the Christmas season. Then, in 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic shut down the world.
By that summer, it was clear that Mr. Jimmy’s valuable role as a spreader of the gospel, which he had begun at age 18 and had resumed after becoming president, had ended.
