As usual, I have a story:
My mother and father once had a basset hound named Bowser. I grew up hearing stories about how Bowser ate a whole cake leaving nothing but the knife on the plate, how Bowser would eat potato chips until he couldn't move, how Bowser had ear problems, and how he was such a good dog. I even heard stories about how Bowser died. One day, riding in a car with my parents, I burst into uncontrollable tears. I fell to pieces in the back seat of the car. I was weeping with all the love and devotion a little girl could have for a long time family pet that had passed away. The strange part about all of this, is that I had never even met Bowser, he had died before I was born. That did not stop me one bit from being completely overcome with emotion and grief for him. I knew what he meant to my parents, I knew what he meant to their friends, I knew that he was a good little dog.
So Jesus, the friend I never met, the teacher for whom I was never a student, that person I had never greeted on the street, is much like the little old dog, Bowser. Not in the sense that he was a family pet, but in the sense that even though I never spent time with him, he still has relevance to my life in stories and in meaning to those with whom I am close. I am indirectly his student.