Sunday School Class with Jimmy Carter: What It Was Like

Plains, Georgia —

He never aged.

No matter how many times one crowded into the modest sanctuary of Maranatha Baptist Church, there was always some wisdom to be gleaned from Jimmy Carter’s measured, Bible-inspired words.

It was another side of the 39th president, a down-to-earth man of unwavering faith who somehow found time to teach Sunday school classes while he didn’t build homes for the needy, advocate for fair elections, or help eradicate terrible diseases. .

For young and old, straight and gay, believers and non-believers, black, white and brown, Maranatha was an off-the-beaten-path destination in southwest Georgia where Carter, until at 90 years old, remained in contact with his fellow citizens of the country. world.

Anyone willing to make the trip to his hometown of Plains, with its single flashing 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 crowds that sometimes reached more than 500 people. (On other Sundays, no more than two dozen regulars and a handful of visitors usually attended services).

Here, the former commander in chief and former first lady, his wife of more than seven decades, were simply Mr. Jimmy and Ms. Rosalynn. And when it came to praying with them, all were welcome.

Sundays with Mr. Jimmy

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

It was like a good cop, bad cop routine. Ms. Jan barking out rules that you knew came straight from Mr. Jimmy, who studied nuclear physics and approached all things with the orderly mind of an engineer.

Most importantly for those who wanted a photo with the Carters – and almost everyone did – you had to stay for the main 11 a.m. church service. The photo taking started around noon.

If you had left the church grounds before then, you could not return. If you stayed, you followed the rules. No autographs. No handshake. No attempt at conversation beyond a brief “hello” or “thank you.”

Carter, still in sports jacket, slacks and bolo tie, began his lesson by moving around the sanctuary, asking with a straight face if there were any visitors – this always got a laugh – and where they were from. In my many trips to Maranatha, I’m sure I’ve heard about all 50 states, not to mention many far-flung countries.

If someone responded in Washington, DC, the response was predictable. “I lived there,” said the current president, flashing his toothy smile.

Carter’s Bible lessons focused on central themes: God gives life, loves unconditionally, and gives the freedom to live a completely successful life. But the lesson usually began with an anecdote about what he had done or his views 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 a trip out West to go trout fishing with Ted Turner. He might talk about the Carter Center’s successes in eliminating Guinea worm or 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 recalled, sweetly speaking of Nelson’s affection for weed.

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

My favorite: Carter recounting his latest book project and how he has long used encyclopedias for his research.

Carter decided the collection was taking up too much space, so he put it in a box and visited local schools and libraries, thinking someone would eagerly accept a donation from a former president. Instead, he got a standard refrain: Sorry, no one uses encyclopedias anymore.

I remember the punchline. “How can I search for things now?” » asked the man born five years after the end of the First World War. Break. Then: “Google”.

Memories of visits

During most of my visits to Maranatha, Carter spoke for 45 minutes without sitting down. His mind remained sharp, with only an occasional glance at the notes hidden in his Bible, but his body grew weaker and weaker as he moved into his 90s. He spoke openly about the ravages of aging.

He resisted pleas from church members to sit down while they taught. I was there the first time he tried it, in August 2018.

“I’m uncomfortable sitting,” he said, “but I guess I’ll get used to it.”

Not this time. Carter sat for less than 10 minutes before getting up. He remained at the table for the rest of the class.

Back the following year, Carter had given up using a remote-controlled white chair. After boarding – voilà – a flick of a switch slowly raised it above the console, visible even to those seated in the back.

If there wasn’t enough room in the sanctuary, rows of folding chairs were set up in the fellowship hall and in a handful of small classrooms. Carter’s lesson would be broadcast on televisions hooked up to a feed from the main room.

A disappointment for visitors? Maybe. But relegation to a back room had its advantages.

Carter, who usually arrived about 15 minutes before his 10 a.m. class began, passed through these rooms before heading to the sanctuary. He even answered a few questions, which was not done in front of a large crowd.

After a 2018 Washington Post article talked about the Carters having regular Saturday night dinners at their friend Jill Stuckey’s house, which each included a glass of “cheap brand Chardonnay,” I asked Carter how many glasses of wine he had drunk during the night. Before.

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

No matter where you sat – main sanctuary or back room – everyone had their photo taken with Mr. Jimmy and Ms. Rosalynn. For many, this seemed to be the greatest reward.

When we first started attending, these photos were taken under a tree just outside the church. After being diagnosed with cancer in 2015, Carter and his wife posed with visitors inside the shrine. Carter liked to joke about the burden of sitting through all those photos, which surely numbered in the hundreds of thousands.

“I’d love to have pictures taken with you all,” he joked after one of his final classes. “Actually, since I’m at church, I better say that I’ll be ready to have pictures taken with you all.”

For my family, these photos show a son growing from boy to man with Mr. Jimmy and Ms. Rosalynn filling the frames. What a treasure they are.

The final lesson

Attendance at Carter’s Sunday school classes plummeted during the Great Recession. But the crowds returned after the news of his cancer, with some people lining up outside the church the night before.

Carter declared himself cancer-free, but other health problems began to catch up with him. After a fall at his home in October 2019 left him with a minor pelvic fracture, the church announced that Carter would not teach his next class on November 3, a lesson we had planned to attend . Disappointed, we canceled our hotel reservation.

But Mr. Jimmy wasn’t finished yet.

The church had canceled without checking with him. He made it clear he was NOT canceling. We quickly booked a new reservation. Carter’s lesson that day, based on the Book of Job, was particularly poignant 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 to having doubts for most of his life, until being struck by cancer, which finally erased all skepticism. When 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 a good deed for a stranger. “I’ll hold you to it,” Carter promised.

He never had the chance.

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

By that summer, it was clear that Mr. Jimmy’s valuable role as a propagator of the Gospel, which he had begun at age 18 and resumed after his presidency, was over.