The God Who Forgets
Matthew 28:1-10
At Providence House Sister Elaine liked to tell
a story about a bishop
who made fun of an old woman
because she claimed that when she prayed to God,
God spoke back.
a story about a bishop
who made fun of an old woman
because she claimed that when she prayed to God,
God spoke back.
Now the bishop had devoted his whole life
to the study of God,
and he was sure that if God spoke to anyone,
it would not be to such as she.
But she insisted.
“It’s true. God speaks to me.”
to the study of God,
and he was sure that if God spoke to anyone,
it would not be to such as she.
But she insisted.
“It’s true. God speaks to me.”
“Prove it!” said the bishop.
Arrogant. Almost angry.
“Ask God what are my greatest private sins.
If you return knowing these then I will believe
that God speaks to you.”
Arrogant. Almost angry.
“Ask God what are my greatest private sins.
If you return knowing these then I will believe
that God speaks to you.”
The woman agreed to do so and they parted.
The following day she returned
and the bishop greeted her with a smirk.
“Well, did you ask God what are my most secret sins?”
“Yes,” she replied. And the look on her face
was so intense,
so knowing
that the bishop hesitated but asked it anyway
“And what did God say?”
The following day she returned
and the bishop greeted her with a smirk.
“Well, did you ask God what are my most secret sins?”
“Yes,” she replied. And the look on her face
was so intense,
so knowing
that the bishop hesitated but asked it anyway
“And what did God say?”
“God said….”
The old woman spoke softly but with assurance.
“God said . . . he couldn’t remember them.”
The old woman spoke softly but with assurance.
“God said . . . he couldn’t remember them.”
The Easter message:
God forgets!
God forgets!
Every time a woman arrived at Providence House—
in her prison-issued trench coat
$20 in her pocket
a curious blend of exhaustion and bewilderment
and hope on her face—
she was almost at a point of Easter.
She had passed her Maundy Thursday with its dark betrayal
passed the judgment and even the crucifixion
and now she waited . . . waited . . . waited
for the stone to roll away
for freedom from the tomb
for resurrection.
in her prison-issued trench coat
$20 in her pocket
a curious blend of exhaustion and bewilderment
and hope on her face—
she was almost at a point of Easter.
She had passed her Maundy Thursday with its dark betrayal
passed the judgment and even the crucifixion
and now she waited . . . waited . . . waited
for the stone to roll away
for freedom from the tomb
for resurrection.
Such a stone is heavy and not easily removed.
Easter is sometimes much more than three days coming.
But every time a woman arrived,
prison lingering in her eyes,
she mysteriously brought us a whiff of Easter.
Easter is sometimes much more than three days coming.
But every time a woman arrived,
prison lingering in her eyes,
she mysteriously brought us a whiff of Easter.
She carried good news
of the God of forgiveness
and new beginnings
and hundredth chances.
The God of resurrections.
The God who forgets.
of the God of forgiveness
and new beginnings
and hundredth chances.
The God of resurrections.
The God who forgets.
Kayla McClurg lived in the community
of Providence
House in New York for five years. Their work has inspired resurrection for thousands of women.
By:
Kayla
McClurgSeason and Scripture: Easter A, Matthew
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