It happens to every pastor eventually. It happened to the parson.
He’d been the guest preacher for a Lenten service at a nearby church. The parson was feeling good after the service. The attendance was much larger than he’d expected. And the sermon was received well.
After the service the parson was greeting folks. A woman about the parson’s age walked up, shook his hand, and said, “You remember me, don’t you? My sister was a member of your church back in the seventies. I used to come to church with her occasionally.”
The parson studied her face for some clue. There was none. His mind was a complete blank. Finally, he confessed, “I’m so sorry; you look familiar but I just can’t bring up a name.”
The woman smiled. “Oh lighten up, Parson. You only saw me a dozen times or so. And, truth be told I’ve added about as many pounds as I have wrinkles. My sister was Agnes Warren.”
“Oh, Agnes’ sister ….”
“Parson,” she interrupted. “Don’t lie after you preached such a nice sermon. You still don’t remember me. But don’t despair. If you want to know the truth I wouldn’t know who you were had your name not been printed in the bulletin.”