Reality by Wallace Alcorn

Jesus said: "I am the Way."

He did not say, I shall show you the way.

If he had, he would have been saying

that the way to reality

is a matter of correct behavior,

of following his example.

But we cannot copy what Christ did,

so we must accept what he is.

Reality is not a matter of

what we do with our lives

but what Christ did by his death.

The way is not symbolic; it’s redemptive.

 

Jesus said: "I am the Truth."

He did not say, I shall tell you the truth.

If he had, he would have been saying

the truth of reality

is a matter of correct knowledge,

of knowing his teachings.

 

But the kind of belief we need for reality

is not a knowing but a trusting belief.

Reality is not a matter of

reasoning until we possess new facts

but believing until we sustain new life.

The truth is not theology; it’s regeneration.

 

Jesus said: "I am the Life."

He did not say, I shall give you life.

If he had, he would have been saying

that the purpose of reality

is a matter of correct ideals,

of our living a good life.

 

But we cannot rescue ourselves from death

and, so, must be redeemed by his own death.

Reality is not a matter of

our living to achieve the ideal

but Christ's dying to sacrifice the perfect.

The life is not being better; it’s being born again.

 

Jesus said, “I am The Way.”

We cannot find our own way in ceremonies, 

which can only symbolize a way: 

we will find the way in the person 

who is The Way. 

This is the purpose of reality.

 

Jesus said, “I am The Truth.”

We cannot comprehend truth from theology, 

which can only systematize what we have been told:

we will embrace the truth in the person 

who is The Truth. 

This is the meaning of reality.

 

Jesus said, “I am The Life.”

We cannot sustain our own life by routine,

which can only organize behavior; 

we will live life in the person 

who is The Life. 

This is the worth of reality.

The Return of Sidewalk Chalk by Wil Triggs

After the dumpings of snow 

When It seemed the mounds would never melt 

That there would never be another spring 

That temps would never go high enough 

To make it all go away

 

This trickling dissolving we know 

Yet forget the way a little warmer felt.

This year, forgetfulness is a thing.

Children in unzipped jackets have had enough.

Their tubs of color show up in the driveway 

 

So a town appears on the blacktop 

A pool, two rows of homes, a church, a school.

Don’t forget the park roughly drawn 

A whole community appears, spring bulbs popping up 

From the hands of children in a single day. 

 

We wonder what else will stop.

Masked or not we play the fool 

One day we will waken to a different dawn 

As often as you drink this cup 

With colored chalks of faith we pray.