The modest church on the cover of Vice President JD Vance’s new memoir unpacking his Catholic faith has a tiny but loyal congregation.
What it doesn’t have, members said: any connection to Vance or Catholicism.
There are a couple dozen regulars at Mt. Zion United Methodist Church in rural southwestern Virginia, according to one, 78-year-old Marshall Funk, who attended his first service there in his mother’s womb. As they gathered Thursday evening for a potluck at the brick building with a white steeple — a classic Methodist style — Funk heard not a peep about politics. As far as he knew, nobody was aware that the White House’s second-in-command had broadcast an image of what Funk called his “second home.”
Vance, to his knowledge, had never visited.
“I’d have to see it to believe it,” the retired dairy farmer said of the cover.
As congregants dug into broccoli casserole, the internet was chattering about Vance’s memoir cover art. Critics mocked the vice president for putting a United Methodist church on the front of a book tracing his road from loose evangelicalism to teenage Pentecostalism to atheism to Catholicism.
“Did jd vance’s journey back to faith specifically include this methodist church in appalachian virginia or did he just grab the folksiest adobe stock image he could find,” one user posted on X.
A spokesperson for his publisher offered an answer.
“The church comes from the part of the country where Vice President Vance grew up,” Tina Andreadis, director of publicity at HarperCollins, told The Washington Post in an email. “He was raised in Protestant and evangelical churches; he talks about Christianity in an ecumenical sense throughout the book.”
Funk wasn’t sure how Vance found Mt. Zion, which sits in Elk Creek, Virginia — some 200 miles from where the vice president’s family lives in eastern Kentucky and 360 miles from his high school in Ohio.
The church, though, was clearly photogenic, despite a roof that needs to be replaced. Most of the maintenance money, Funk said, comes from what worshipers left for Mt. Zion in their wills. Still, air conditioning and heat are so expensive, the building hosts only one Sunday service per month. Otherwise, members rotate between four other Methodist churches that share the same pastor.
Funk hadn’t heard about “Communion: Finding My Way Back to Faith,” which is set to be released June 16, until a Post reporter texted him a picture of the cover. Yep, that was the church he’d been attending for the better part of eight decades.
He wouldn’t judge the Catholic politician for choosing a Methodist church to illustrate his memoir.
“That’s between him and God,” Funk said.
Vance’s team did not immediately respond to requests for comment.
The vice president was raised by a grandmother who spurned organized religion but loved watching Billy Graham. As the vice president tells it in his best-selling memoir “Hillbilly Elegy,” his beloved “Mamaw” honored Jesus outside the rigid rules of any specific church. His father later introduced him to the shouting and dancing energy of a Pentecostal service. So converting to Catholicism at age 35 was quite the pivot.
“I’m a Christian, and I became a Christian because I believe that Jesus Christ’s teachings are true,” Vance said in a news release announcing the book. “But I didn’t always think that, and by sharing my journey I might be helpful to others — Catholic, Protestant or otherwise — who are seeking reconciliation with God.”
Pastor Gleasanna Dixon, who led services at Mt. Zion for six years until she retired in July, said she’d never heard of the church having anything to do with Vance.
“How wonderful!” she exclaimed when The Post called her.
She described herself as nonpartisan, but she likes the guy. As for the Catholicism thing:
“The Catholics, the Baptists, the Methodists — we’re all going to be in heaven together,” she said.
The Elk Creek congregation is a tight-knit but dwindling community of retirees, she said, mainly in their 70s and 80s. Dixon spent much of her tenure visiting folks at hospitals and nursing homes. Several had been farmers. Some sold their land to developers looking to build vacation homes for hiking enthusiasts.
The worshipers, she thought, could use some extra attention. Maybe MAGA fans will help raise money for their church, which is propped up by fixed incomes in a world of rising costs.
“I hope they all know it’s on the cover,” she said. “That would make them feel better.”
Funk didn’t feel better, but he wouldn’t complain. As an Air Force veteran, he fought for the freedom of speech. Plus, the photo Vance chose was beautiful, he thought. Look at the wealth of trees, the sun setting over the Blue Ridge Mountains.
“If someone wants to use that picture, it is a free country,” he said.
A Democrat, he wished the nation’s leaders would focus on problems at home. The war in Iran, for example, was costing him personally. Look at the price of gas. Last year, he could fill up his Chevrolet Traverse for about $40.
“Now, it’s $70,” chimed in his wife, Jeanne.
She was surprised that Vance would feature such a small church. Over the decades, young people kept moving away, seeking better jobs. Their group was getting tinier and tinier — “a skeleton crew,” Marshall Funk called it. Vance’s spotlight wasn’t the worst thing, however surreal.
“We don’t know him,” Jeanne said. “Well, everyone knows of him.”
“We don’t judge,” Marshall said.
If Vance were to come to Mt. Zion, they’d welcome him with open arms.
Razzan Nakhlawi in Washington contributed to this report.
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