Sunday school class with Jimmy Carter: What it was like

PLAINS, Ga. — It never got old.

No matter how many times you sat in the modest sanctuary of Maranatha Baptist Church, there was always some wisdom to be gleaned from the measured, Bible-inspired words of Jimmy Carter.

This was a different side of the 39th president, a down-to-earth man of steadfast faith who somehow found time to teach Sunday school when he wasn’t building homes for the needy, or advocating for fair elections, or helping to eradicate of terrible diseases. .

For young and old, straight and gay, believers and nonbelievers, black and white and brown, Maranatha was a remote destination in southwestern Georgia, where Carter remained connected to his fellow citizens of the world well into his nineties.

Anyone who is willing to make the journey his hometown of Plainswith its only flashing warning light and hundreds of residents, was rewarded with access to a white-haired man who once held the highest office in the land.

Carter taught his Sunday School class about twice a month to accommodate crowds that sometimes grew to more than 500 people. (On other Sundays, usually no more than a few dozen patrons and a handful of visitors attended services).

Here were the former Commander in Chief and the former First Lady, his wife of more than seventy years, simply Mr. Jimmy and Mrs. Rosalynn. And when it came to worshiping with them, everyone was welcome.

Before the former president entered the sanctuary, with a bomb-sniffing dog and Secret Service agents stationed outside, strict rules would be set by Mrs. Jan – Jan Williams, a longtime church member and friend of the Carters. She would have made quite a drill sergeant.

It felt like a ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine. Mrs. Jan barked out lines that you knew came straight from Mr. Jimmy, who studied nuclear physics and approached all things with the orderly mind of an engineer.

The most important thing for those who wanted to have their picture taken with the Carters—and almost everyone did—was that you had to stay for the 11 a.m. church service. Taking the photos started around noon.

If you left the church grounds earlier, there was no return. If you stayed, you followed the rules. No signatures. No handshakes. No attempts at conversation other than a quick ‘good morning’ or ‘thank you’.

Carter, who consistently wore a suit jacket, slacks and a bolo tie, began his lesson by walking through the sanctuary and asking with a straight face if there were any visitors – which always drew laughter – and where they were from. I am sure that in my many trips to Maranatha I have heard of all fifty states, not to mention a range of distant countries.

When someone answered Washington DC, the answer was predictable. “I lived there,” the one-term president would say, with a broad grin.

Carter’s Bible lessons focused on central themes: God gives life, loves unconditionally, and provides the freedom to live a fully successful life. But the lesson usually started with an anecdote about what he had been up to or his views on world affairs.

Carter could talk about building houses 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 about a trip west to go trout fishing with Ted Turner. He could talk about the successes of The Carter Center in eliminating the guinea pig wormor his long friendships with Willie Nelson and Bob Dylan.

“Willie Nelson is an old friend. He used to come visit me at the White House,” Carter once said, gently mentioning Nelson’s affection for pot.

“I don’t know what Willie and my kids did after I went to bed. I’ve heard rumors,” the former president said with a sly grin and a wink that suggested he believed every word.

My favorite: Carter talks about his latest book project and how he had long used encyclopedias for research.

Carter decided the collection took up too much space, so he put it in a box and went to local schools and libraries, thinking someone would be happy to accept a donation from an ex-president. Instead, he got a stock refrain: Sorry, no one uses encyclopedias anymore.

I remember the punchline. “How do I look things up now?” asked the man born five years after the end of the First World War. Break. Then: ‘Google’.

During most of my visits to Maranatha, Carter spoke for 45 minutes without sitting down. His mind remained sharp, with only occasional glances at the notes tucked into his Bible, but his body grew weaker as he moved deeper into his nineties. He spoke openly about the consequences of growing older.

He resisted pleas from church members to take a seat while teaching. I was there when he first tried it, in August 2018.

“I don’t like sitting down,” he said, “but I think I’ll get used to it.”

Not that time. Carter sat for less than ten minutes before getting up. He stayed at the table for the rest of the lesson.

When he returned the following year, Carter had given in to using a white, remote-controlled chair. After climbing aboard – voilà – with the push of a button he was slowly lifted above the desk, visible even to those in the back.

When there wasn’t enough space in the sanctuary, rows of folding chairs were placed in the fellowship hall and a handful of small classrooms. Carter’s lesson would be shown on TVs linked to a feed from the main room.

A turn-off for visitors? Maybe. But relegation to a backroom had its advantages.

Carter, who usually arrived about 15 minutes before the start of his 10 a.m. class, walked past these rooms before heading to the shelter. He even answered a few questions, which didn’t happen in front of the large crowd.

After a 2018 profile from The Washington Post reported that the Carters had regular Saturday night dinners at friend Jill Stuckey’s house, including one glass of “cheap Chardonnay,” I asked Carter how many glasses of wine he had that night. for.

“I’ll say one,” Carter replied with a sly grin. Stuckey, standing behind him, shook her head and held up two fingers.

No matter where you sat – in the main sanctuary or in the back room – everyone had their picture taken with Mr. Jimmy and Mrs. Rosalynn. To many, this seemed the greatest reward.

When we first attended, those photos were taken under a tree just outside the church. After being diagnosed with cancer in 2015, Carter and his wife posed with visitors at the shrine. Carter liked to joke about how hard it was to sit for all those photos, which must have numbered in the hundreds of thousands.

“I will be very happy to have my picture taken with all of you,” he joked after one of his last lessons. “Actually, since I’m in church, I guess I better say I’m willing to take a picture with all of you.”

For my family, these photos show a son growing from boy to man as Mr. Jimmy and Mrs. Rosalynn fill in the frames. What a treasure they are.

Attendance for Carter’s Sunday School classes dropped during the Great Recession. But the crowds returned after his cancer announcement, with a number of people queuing outside the church the night before.

Carter declared himself cancer-free, but other health problems began to catch up with him. After suffering a mildly broken pelvis from a fall at his home in October 2019, the church announced that Carter would not teach his next class on November 3, a class we had scheduled. Disappointed, we canceled our hotel reservation.

But Mr. Jimmy wasn’t done yet.

The church had canceled without contacting him. He made it clear that he was NOT cancelling. We quickly rebooked. Carter’s lesson that day, based on the Book of Job, was particularly moving in retrospect.

“I’m going to start by asking you a very profound question,” he said. “How many of you believe in life after death?”

Carter admitted that he had doubts most of his life until he was struck by cancer, which finally erased all skepticism. If the end of this world came, he would be ready.

“We have nothing to fear after death,” Carter said with a reassuring smile.

At the end of his lesson, he challenged everyone to do one good deed for a stranger. “I’m going to hold you to it,” Carter promised.

He never got the chance.

His health continued to deteriorate, leaving him sidelined over the Christmas period. Then in 2020, the COVID-19 pandemic brought the world to a standstill.

By that summer, it was clear that Mr. Jimmy’s cherished role as a preacher of the gospel, which he began at age 18 and resumed after his presidency, was over.

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Paul Newberry, an Atlanta-based national sportswriter and columnist for The Associated Press, traveled to Plains, Georgia, with his family and friends about 20 times to attend Carter’s Sunday school classes. He was there for Carter’s last class.