Last week, I was at our seminary’s picnic when someone put their hand on my shoulder and said: “Tom Rubino, do you remember me?”  As I turned around, I struggled to indentify who this person was.  I recognized that this was someone I knew, but couldn’t place the context in which I had known him.  Perhaps sensing my struggle he said: “You don’t remember who I am, do you, Tom Rubino.”

By that time, a name had come into my mind, but I just couldn’t believe that it was the person I was thinking of.  Doubting myself, I uncomfortably pleaded: “Give me a little help, man.”  “It’s okay.” He comforted. “It’s been a long time and I had a lot more hair the last time you saw me.”  The more he spoke, the more I searched my past.  And the more I observed his mannerisms, the more confident I became that I did know who he was.

I don’t remember the exact hint he started to give me, but it was enough to give me the confidence to blurt out: “Mr. R.!  What are you doing here??”  That’s why I had struggled so much with his name.  I mean, of all people, M.R. was one of the last people I would have ever expected to come to seminary.  Of course, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that he was probably thinking the same thing about me!

It had been fifteen years since I had seen M. and his wife, V.  As we spent time catching up, all these memories started flooding my mind.  You see, M. had been one of my first small group leaders at Wake Forest. 

A small group is a bunch of Christian folks that meet together to study the Bible, support one another in life, and pray together.  I was in his group, even though I wasn’t even a Christian at the time.

He had put up with me asking a lot of questions about Jesus and Christianity.  He was one of the first people that told me about having a “personal” relationship with Jesus Christ.  “What does he mean by ‘personal’ relationship?” I remember thinking to myself.  “How can you do that with a guy that died 2000 years ago?”  I was quite intrigued. 

So intrigued, in fact, that his words had motivated me to make a decision.  “I’m tired of all these other people telling me about this Jesus.” I arrogantly proclaimed to myself.  “I’m going to read this Bible on my own and make my own decision!”

And that I had done.  And now (fifteen years later) there we were, standing on the patio behind Edwards Hall, catching up on our stories, and sharing our dreams of how we wanted to be used to tell others about a personal relationship with this very same Jesus. 

One thing I love about pomos (postmoderns) is their emphasis upon stories.  It’s not uncommon for one of them (when they first meet you) to ask: “So… what’s your story.”

M. and I had been living our stories for fifteen years and amazingly, our storylines had crossed again.  What would each of us contribute to one another’s story?  How would we influence the way in which we lived our stories in the future?

My reunion with M. reminded me of the gloriousness of our story-writing God.  That’s really what Christianity is all about… playing our part in the amazing divine story that was written before time began and is being woven into the tapestry of the here and now.   

It’s a story of creation and fall… despair being overcome by hope… rebellion being conquered by love.  It’s a story about struggling with the way things are, the ache of recognizing that they’re not the way their supposed to be, and the joy of knowing that some day, all things will be made right.

Our stories matter.  They all have unimaginable significance.  They all work together in the unfolding of this divine drama.  They all impact others, whether positively or negatively.  What story are you leaving for those that come after you to tell?