Mysterious People

Every town has mysterious people. The smaller the town the more evident they are. Churches also have mysterious people. I mean people we get to practice our love on. I may as well inform you now that you are a mysterious problem to someone. It is just the way it works.

The town I grew up in had a population of about 30,000 people in the greater area. It was and is an agricultural area. But it is vastly different now. There are about 80,000 people in the greater area now. And apple orchards have been replaced with housing developments. But the downtown still looks much the same but few actually shop there. There are two malls now and that’s where people hang out.

There are two mysterious people I remember. Let me discuss an elderly man who the town called Speedy. Speedy couldn’t talk. He was somewhat handicapped. But not seriously. Those who knew him learned to use sign language to speak with him. I used to watch in amazement as a kid as these conversations were carried on. You didn’t see much of that in a town like ours.

Speedy worked at one of the local bike shops. He was a wiz at fixing anything. He road a large tricycle around town. He waved at everyone he passed. The word around town was that Speedy was gassed in WWI by the Germans. It left him neurologically damaged. And he couldn’t speak thereafter. I am really not sure how true the story was, but it was widely accepted.

We had parades and festivals in town every year in the spring. And Speedy would ride behind the bands on his tricycle waving. It actually was a little uncomfortable for me to see that. But most of the town knew what the scoop was and accepted the mystery around him.

Speedy died when I was in early high school. The town mourned the loss of their mystery person. I was at the age where you didn’t really stop to think about losses like that. You sort of shrugged your shoulders and went on. But I think of Speedy every once in awhile when I go home. I wonder if I will be a mystery to anyone some day.

The other mystery person was Evelyn. Evelyn was a crazy person. She wondered the streets shouting at strangers. Everyone in town knew about Evelyn and tolerated her outbursts. I saw her cussing out a parking meter a few times. She dressed in bright wild colors. My mother was particularly kind to Evelyn. She had gone to school with her and remembers her when she was sane.

I had one big run-in with Evelyn. Actually there we two but only one on a real personal level. The least traumatic event was when I was speaking at a men’s breakfast and she burst in and offered sexual favors to the men. You didn’t see something like that at most Christian events. It made her a mysterious figure right off. She left willingly and things moved on. Everyone knew it was just Evelyn.

The traumatic event I had with Evelyn was one afternoon at the Post Office. You used to pay your power bill at the Post Office where I lived. I was waiting to pay. The lobby was full of mostly people I didn’t know at all. Evelyn burst into the lobby and looked at me and said, “I know you are one of the Kennedy boys and we know about you, boy!” I didn’t know what to say. I just sheepishly grinned. She went on, “I know you broke into my father’s office and stole his safe.”

Some of the people looked like they believed her. Most just looked at me like they were thinking, “it was your turn, you poor sap.” I quietly said, “Hi Evelyn, how are you?” She said, “Fine,” and walked out the door. No one laughed or said anything. Evelyn was a pain but in a small town you know mystery people are part of the scenery.

When I was in college my mom and I were talking about Evelyn. I learned she had contracted syphilis as a young woman and it wasn’t caught until she had serious brain damage. That is either the case or my mom was using it as a curb to sexual promiscuity on the part of her children. Evelyn died long after I had left the home town. And when she died the church was full of people. Evelyn was loved.

I think God loves mysterious people. They help us remember the possibility of our being unlovable too. I think we are called to learn to love better because of these folks.

I live in a wonderful city now and spent thirty-five years in Seattle. Mysterious people aren’t so obvious there. There was a guy who played Tuba outside sports events and everyone knew him in Seattle. And he was cool. I had a Sunday evening radio show for a while and asked him to come play Tuba on the show. He said he would but never showed.

The church is a collection of mystery people learning to love each other when we are at our best. I think a church of any size functions like a small town that accepts the mysterious kind of people.