Plains, Ga. (AP) — It never got old.

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

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

For young and old, straight and gay, believers and nonbelievers, Black and white and brown, Maranatha was a faroff-the-beaten path destination in southwest Georgia where Carter, well into his 90s, stayed connected with his fellow citizens of the world.

Anyone willing to make the trek to his hometown of Plains, with its one blinking caution light and residents numbering in the hundreds, was rewarded with access to a white-haired man who once occupied the highest office in the land.

Carter taught his Sunday school class roughly twice a month to accommodate crowds that sometimes swelled to more than 500. (On the other Sundays, no more than a couple dozen regulars and a handful of visitors usually attended services).

Here, the former commander-in-chief and the onetime first lady, his wife of more than seven decades, were simply Mr. Jimmy and Ms. Rosalynn. And when it came to worshipping 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 around, a strict set of rules would be laid out by Ms. 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. Ms. Jan barking out rules you knew had come straight from Mr. Jimmy, who studied nuclear physics and approached all things with an engineer’s orderly mind.

Most important for those wanting a photo with the Carters — and nearly everyone did — you had to stay for the main 11 a.m. church service. Picturetaking began around noon.

If you left the church grounds before that, there was no coming back. If you stayed, you followed rules. No autographs. No handshakes. No attempts at conversation beyond a brief "good morning" or "thank you."

Carter, consistently in sports jacket, slacks and bolo tie, would start his lesson by moving around the sanctuary, asking with a straight face if there were any visitors — that always got a laugh — and where they were from. In my many trips to Maranatha, I’m sure I heard all 50 states, not to mention an array of farflung countries.

If anyone answered Washington, D.C., the answer was predictable. "I used to live there," the one-term president would say, breaking into that toothy grin.

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

Carter could talk about building homes with Habitat for Humanity or bemoan U.S. conflicts since World War II. He could 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 could talk about The Carter Center’s successes in eliminating the guinea worm, or his long friendships with Willie Nelson and Bob Dylan.

"Willie Nelson is an old friend. He used to come visit me in the White House," Carter related once, touching ever so gently on Nelson’s affection for weed.

"I don’t know what Willie and my children 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 telling of his latest book project and how he had long used encyclopedias for research.

Carter decided the collection was taking up too much space, so he boxed it up and headed out to local schools and libraries, figuring someone would eagerly take a donation from an ex-president. Instead, he got a standard refrain: Sorry, no one uses encyclopedias anymore.

I recall the punchline. "How do I look up things now?" asked the man born five years after World War I ended. Pause. 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 tucked inside his Bible, but his body became more and more feeble as he moved deeper into his 90s. He talked openly about the ravages of aging.