Tribute to a Good Man: John Calvin Grier

Remembering John Calvin Grier

It was late Monday morning, July 7, and I had been out to an appointment. When I got home, the phone was ringing. The voice on the phone said,

“Chuck, John Calvin is dead; he died this morning from a heart attack.”

Shocked, I thought, “We talked yesterday. He turned 65 just two weeks ago! Why couldn’t it have been me? He’s needed more than I am!”

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When I first met John Calvin Grier (and his relatives and friends called him John Calvin), he was a riddle to me. As a member of and elder in the Lower Long Cane Presbyterian Church, he usually represented his congregation at meetings of Second Presbytery.

He lived in the middle of a forest out from Greenwood, McCormick, and Troy, where he tree-farmed on a large tract of land. But John Calvin wasn’t like any farmer I ever knew. Quiet, even a bit taciturn, yet when engaged in conversation, he was a Renaissance man. He was articulate in astronomy, arboriculture, politics, history, math, science, cooking, English literature, and many other subjects. His knowledge of the Bible was extensive, and he was comfortable discussing theology with seminary graduates.

Finally, after listening to John Calvin support something he said with a long quote from Shakespeare, I said to him:

“Okay, who are you? You’re more than a farmer!”

With a whimsical smile, he said, “What do you want to know?”

“Where,” I asked, “did you go to college?”

“The University of the South at Sewanee,” he said.

“Now, that is impressive! No wonder you can read and write!” I said. “And what was your major?”

“Physics,” he replied.

I asked, “How is it that you’re a tree farmer and not a professor or bomb maker for the government?”

“Well,” he laughed, “I didn’t want to spend a fortune and years in grad school, and then, like most physicists, not be able to find a job. I inherited a large tract of land covered with pine trees, and, since I’m a bit lazy, it’s easier growing pine trees than it is being a physicist.”

Finally, I asked, “John Calvin, how is it you know the Scripture and theology so well? You didn’t get that at Sewanee in Physics classes.”

“Chuck,” he said, “have you heard of Manford George Gutzke? He was my maternal grandfather.”

Well, of course, I knew who Manford George Gutzke was—the last conservative evangelical professor at Columbia Theological Seminary, the radio voice of The Bible for You, and the author of a small library of books on the Bible. I once had him preach for me. The short time I spent with him I count precious. And now I was speaking with his grandson.

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Over a 20-year period, John Calvin and I became friends.

Many people found John Calvin difficult to talk to. He was a man of few words. He considered himself a recluse and a misanthrope—indeed, he valued his solitude (and he had little use for people he counted as fakes). However, I learned there was a way to get him talking. I asked him about his Ashkenazi Jewish heritage through the Gutzke side of his family, and I got an hour-and-a-half story about European Judaism and Imperial Russian history with a fascinating account of how a great-grandfather became a Christian, served the Czar in the imperial palace in St. Petersburg as a royal official, and escaped the Communist Revolution by fleeing to Canada after World War One.

As a Grier, John Calvin also made an avocation of knowing the history of the Associate Reformed Presbyterian Church. On a straight line, he could trace his mother’s people to the sailing ships that debarked the first Seceders (Associate Presbyterians) in the American colonies in the 1700s. And, though not a son of the Lower Long Cane Presbyterian Church, he could trace the history of the congregation from 1769 to the present with interesting stories, one after another.

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John Calvin had many interests. He loved astronomy (and once said, “Looking at the stars is like peeking at the hand of God at work!”). He knew how to prepare Hasenpfeffer, barbecue wild boar, cook a bear roast, make Borscht, and perform a proper Russian tea service (and the food he prepared was tasty). He loved old movies, especially Woody Allen films (from which he memorized many lines), and I think he had all the lines of Blazing Saddles memorized. Behind his stoic demeanor danced a spirit that was humorous and mischievous.

As a presbyter, John Calvin rarely said no. When asked to serve as Vice Moderator of General Synod, he was ready and willing. In Second Presbytery, he served as Moderator, Vice Moderator, and on every major committee more than once. He was the “go-to guy” when someone was needed. He said,

“As a tree farmer (which gives me a lot of free time), I can do what most laymen can’t and what most ministers are limited in doing. I have time to travel and represent a committee or the presbytery.”

And John Calvin was always respected for his judicious words and hard work.

As a member of the Lower Long Cane Presbyterian Church, he was the congregational anchor. In recent days, he oversaw the repairing of the foundation of a historic building which was built in 1856, the replacing of the roof with a metal roof, and the replacing of the shutters on the sanctuary. “Well,” he said with satisfaction, “this should take care of the major issues of the building for another 100 years!” He was tireless in his efforts and concerns for the continuing legacy of a historic church and graveyard.

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Amongst the Presbyterians in the Troy community, John Calvin was a leader for good. Knowing the people and sharing the history of their congregations, John Calvin was ready to help the Troy and the Cedar Springs congregations. He also knew the people and the stories of the Baptist, Methodist, and other congregations, black and white. He knew them, they knew him, and he was as comfortable with them as a pair of old shoes.

If a good man is defined as a person who goes about doing good things for people as a cup of cold water in Jesus’ name, then John Calvin was a good man—a very good man!

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Since 2014, I have preached as supply for the Lower Long Cane Presbyterian Church on first and third Sundays. On July 6, the first Sunday of July, I finished a series on the book of Colossians with a sermon entitled “No Little People” (a title I borrowed from Francis Schaeffer).

Struggling with a reaction to Mounjaro, I was sick. At the end of the service, John Calvin and a younger member of the congregation wanted a word with me. The young man wanted to know if the English Standard Study Bible was a good study Bible to purchase. I was thrilled to say Yes!

John Calvin was interested in the conversation, and he added a thought or two. Intrigued with the title of my sermon, he asked if Erlene and I were going to eat lunch at Theo’s Café in Abbeville (as is our custom). He asked if he could join us, for he wanted to talk about the sermon and probably about Schaeffer.

I said, “John, I’m too nauseous to eat! Let’s talk when I feel better; when I’m off Mounjaro. We can talk later this week by phone, or we can talk on third Sunday when we eat at Theo’s.”

As we drove away, my wife said, “Chuck, John Calvin is one of those little people who’s not so little.” Indeed, that was true!

John Calvin Grier, a good man, will be greatly missed and warmly remembered by those who knew and loved him—those who were blessed with a cup of cold water in Jesus’ name from his hands.