The first time I met the Jesus Lady must have been in 2021. I had just sat through the torturous five-hour annual Student Union meeting and was on my way with a couple of friends to celebrate our freedom with a kebab.

Halfway up Odengatan — right outside 7-Eleven, for those familiar — I got the sense I was being pursued. You know that feeling, walking home in the dark, when you just know something is right behind you? You’re compelled to look.

I spun around. There, mere inches from my face, stood an older lady. She looked frail, neither kind nor unkind, with silvery hair and a loosely tied scarf around her neck. Her proximity startled me, but what really threw me off were her arms: they were stretched out in a most unusual fashion.

Spread like the wings of a proud eagle,  or the hands of a televangelist mid-sermon, she looked ready to enfold me completely. This triggered a full-on flight response. I spun back toward the direction we’d been walking, ready to flee, but was blocked by the backs of my two friends. With the lady rapidly closing in from behind, I did something I’m not proud of: I wedged myself between my friends and ran off, only meeting them again at the kebab shop. 

This might seem like an overreaction for those not ‘in the know’. You see this lady wasn’t any old woman. She’s a part of Stockholmian folklore. One of a cast of characters you’re bound to meet if you spend enough time in and around the city. 

Some other examples are Otto, the Hungarian cimbalom player who frequents the red line and ‘Fittja-Tarzan’ who dresses like his namesake all year round except with an added fanny pack.

Back to the moment: Despite my cozy suburban upbringing I’d heard enough stories from the city to know exactly who the Jesus Lady was immediately upon standing face-to-face with her. I’d say she’s the most famous character of them all in fact. Let me bring those unaware up to speed: She’s a street-preacher known for chasing people, mostly groups of teens, and loudly bashing their sinful lives, with promises of hellfire and brimstone. Now you might understand why I, not even baptised, ran with such vigour. 

The second time I met her I didn’t run. This was summer 2023. I was passing Hornstull train station when I heard a loud argument inside by the turnstiles. I entered the station and saw her again, wearing a winter jacket and shouting at a group of girls. The girls, perhaps all of them baptised, stood unfazed while the lady was inching closer and closer and shouting louder and louder. I foresaw their collision and had to look away, like one does when they see a stranger miss the bus. You just can’t look. When I glanced back the Jesus Lady was staggered a meter away from the girls. Perhaps she’d been pushed. Everything was silent. Then she started screaming even louder than before and the girls took this opportunity to run. I couldn’t blame them. 

Wanting to know more about the Jesus Lady, I found an article in Dagens Nyheter from 2006, where a woman fitting her profile was interviewed. She’s named ‘Eva’, comes from Helsinki and tells about how she was fired from her job as a nurse for refusing to administer medicine. It was against God’s wishes apparently. She also makes sure to mention God isn’t a fan of the EU either.  

She’s clearly not well. Nobody who speaks like that is. And that's the allure of them all, isn’t it? That’s the entertainment. They stand out. We hope to spot them like celebrities. It’s tradition now for someone to post that the Jesus Lady has passed away, only for someone else to post their sighting and then everyone celebrates that she’s still ‘going’.  We wish to see them do their acts like automatons.

There was a man by the bus station by Stadsbiblioteket. He’d always walk up to you, asking if you had a cigarette, raising his hand towards his lips to emphasize his question. I’d shake my head and he’d walk to the next person. Sometimes, if the bus was really delayed, he’d manage to make the round around the block and ask a second time. 

I thought I saw him in a suit once. In a suit and with a suitcase. Beard shaved and stepping on a bus from the same station he often haunted. That made me smile and I remember telling my mother the story that evening. Next day he came up and asked for a cigarette. Beard fully grown. 

I’m sure you could meet him today if you have the time to wait by the bus station.

What does all of this mean? I don’t know.

The last time I saw the Jesus Lady she wasn’t preaching. She had her arms by her sides and she was quietly watching a shop window. I observed her for a while, wanting to make sure it was her. She walked to the stairs to the underground, holding her hand out to grasp the railing before making her way down the steps. It could have been anybody really.