Earlier this summer a man by the name of Rich Retallic lost control of his light truck on a rain-slick stretch of Interstate 15 in Idaho. His vehicle struck the median and overturned. Even though he was wearing his seatbelt, the impact tragically took Rich’s life. He was a 62-year-old husband, father, and grandfather.

He was also the youth leader whom God used to change my life.

Thirty-nine years ago Rich was studying to become a pastor at Louisville Theological Seminary. He arrived at my family’s church on the near Northside of Indianapolis as a “weekend warrior” contracted to spend 48 hours every week leading our garden-variety high school youth group.

I was a high school senior in that group. About the time Rich showed up I was on my way out. I was in the process of leaving everything: the youth group, my church, and Christianity itself as a way of making sense of the world. I had become captivated by Darwinism and evolutionary biology’s coherent answers to the three great human questions.

Who are we? We are the end products of a long series of fortuitous genetic mutations. Where are we heading? Individually we are headed for the grave; as a species we will all perish when entropy turns the universe into an everlasting icebox. What should we be doing right now? We must take care of ourselves and do the best we can, which was essentially a nice Midwestern boy’s version of “eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.” I’m fairly confident I would have eventually gotten around to more salacious applications of that famous phrase.

But then Rich showed up. He wasn’t like our previous youth group leaders. He was actually rather dull. He didn’t lead us to build a coffee house, ponder the sociological ramifications of the Viet Nam War, and study I’m OK, You’re OK – each of which had been front and center during my first three years of our high school youth group.

Rich actually claimed to know God. He prayed to God as if he would answer. I was intrigued. I got trapped. I was supposed to be leaving this whole church thing behind, but instead I wanted to find out if there was some reality to the Jesus stories after all.

Rich gave me a book. It was called Run, Baby, Run. Its author was Nicky Cruz, a New York City gang leader and murderer who came to Christ in the midst of a seemingly hopeless life. It was the first book I ever read that made me think that God might actually be real and accessible – and maybe even interested in a self-assured kid who was betting his life on Darwinism.

Looking back, I don’t recall when I began to put my trust in Christ. It happened slowly and relentlessly during the winter of my senior year. I began to realize that there was another set of answers to the three great human questions. Who are we? We are the treasured creations of the magnificent Architect of the universe. Where are we heading? We are either running towards or scurrying away from his intentions for our lives. What should we be doing right now? The Good Life arises from active conformity to the life of Jesus of Nazareth.

Gradually I began to commit myself to those answers. Along the way Rich helped me wrestle through the issues. He listened to me. He never rushed me. He influenced at least two-dozen other youth group members to choose Jesus, including my younger brother. One Sunday afternoon following a retreat he prayed with one of the senior girls to receive Christ. Four years later she would become my wife.

Rich’s dream of becoming a pastor, however, never came true. I remember that he doubted his own gifts. He moved to the Pacific Northwest and became an elementary school teacher, Phys Ed instructor, and postal worker.

Several years ago I gave Rich a call. It was the first time we had talked in more than three decades. I wanted to learn how his life had turned out. And I wanted to tell him how my own life had turned out – and to thank him for playing such a key role in introducing me to the Lord. As I expected, Rich resisted the idea that he had made much of a difference. He didn’t grasp the impact of his time with us, and the fact that three of the members of that garden-variety youth group are in full-time ministry today – in large part because of his own faithfulness to God.

What will be the greatest surprises in heaven? I don’t think it will be the faces we see around us, or the answers we finally receive to our most vexing theological questions. I suspect our eyes will open wide when we finally learn the impact we had (or perhaps failed to have) concerning our this-world opportunities to listen, to encourage, to love, and to pray.