I was reading Alan Jones' Reimagining Christianity and got to this part (p. 50):
Sometimes I feel like one of the old rabbis in the Hasidic tradition who told the story about the people gathering in the forest around the fire to tell the story of redemption. As time went by, they forgot the story and could no longer find the place in the forest. But they did remember that there was a story. All they could do was light a fire and tell the story that there was once a story. This isn't as gloomy as it sounds, because it is a story about the power of stories. And the rabbis knew that God loved stories.I just about cried.