AGORA
Agora seeks to glorify God as an ecumenical forum and journal of Christian thought. By creating and curating pieces that reflect the vibrant beauty of God’s nature, we offer a collective Christian perspective to the campus dialogue.
Agora gratefully recognizes the support and guidance from the Augustine Collective, a network of student-lead, Christian thought journals on university campuses across the US and the UK.
See our full digital publication and blog content at WWW.GTAGORA.COM GT.AGORA
IMAGE
CHIAO
JOSHUA CHUNG
EXECUTIVE BOARD
Co-Editor-In-Chief
Co-Editor-In-Chief & Creative Director
DAVID QU
Managing Editor
Outreach Coordinator
CONTRIBUTORS
WRITERS
Ansley Cheng
Catherine Tian
Elliott Chen
Katherine Leasure
Sean Kim
EDITORS
Ansley Cheng
Catherine Tian
Christina Cai
Daniel Guo
David Qu
Elliott Chen
Esther Shen
Katherine Leasure
Lois Lee
Olivia Hu
Social Media Chair
MEDIA
Allison Chung
Eddy Chiao
Catherine Tian
Chris Moon
Daniel Guo
Joshua Chung
Joshua Park
Lorien Cho
Stephen Noh
Olivia Hu
STAFF
CATHERINE TIAN
OLIVIA HU
CHRISTINA CAI
ANSLEY CHENG
It’s a joy and honor to bring you this third issue of Agora, enveloped and sealed in His gracious love for all of us. Each semester, we are astounded by God’s merciful provision of contributors, talents, time, and resources; the very journal you’re holding is a miracle in itself, and we invite you to join us in celebrating His goodness in these pages!
We’d like to introduce this installation’s theme, Water. It’s well known that water is essential to life: it sustains our individual beings, our ecosystems, our planet. It’s so fundamental that we often forget its necessity; instead, it’s one of many undercurrents that support our interests, obligations, and priorities. It’s only in seasons of drought that we realize how precious water is, how life-giving, and how frail we become without proper hydration.
We sometimes fall into a similar rhythm in our relationship with Christ, especially amidst the busyness and distraction of this world. Water, then, in its many forms can emulate our relationship with the Father, through both gentle streams and violent hurricanes. This semester, our writers meditated on water in its multidimensionality, especially as it has reflected God’s character and presence in their lives. Through their witness and His grace, we’ve seen the evidence of God’s love overflow onto these pages.
So take a moment, grab your favorite drink, and spend some time with these pieces. And as you dwell, may He fill your cup and nourish you with His precious living water.
Yours in Christ,
Catherine & Via
Reader,
I am so glad you’re here.
ON TEMPESTS AND TRIALS
I have something to tell you. Come, sit. Lean in close, and listen hard. He who has ears to hear, let him hear.
I. THE BAD
They never tell you why hurricanes are good. They only ever tell you why hurricanes are bad. Destructive winds, tearing the roof off of that childhood home you loved so hard, whipping the insides until you don’t even know what it looked like to begin with. Immense flooding, the kind that soaks into your bones and seeps into your soul, the kind that fills you up, burning, water churning, lungs screaming for just a moment of relief. And your favorite stuffed animal on the shelf of your purple painted room? The book your dad used to read to you every night before bed? I hate to be the one to tell you, but they’re gone now, swept away, torn apart. Damaged goods. That’s what we become in a hurricane. This, see, is what the world wants us to know: destruction. damage. hurt. pain. Swallowed whole by a torrential rain, swept into floods too deep to swim out on our own, churned down debris-ridden rapids, terrified to hit our heads, terrified of the murky dark, terrified to stop. But it doesn’t stop. The rain keeps pounding, the water keeps rising till it’s truly all you can think, all you can know, all you’ve ever known. That’s what it is.
Why do bad things happen to good people? It’s all bad. At least, that’s what the world wants us to know.
II. THE GOOD
Yet they still never tell you why the hurricanes are good. No one ever talks about the things that come from a raging hurricane, from a storm so monstrous, so massive, so monumental. Because here’s the thing. Hurricanes don’t hit everyone the same. To some, they are but rain, a sprinkling of
WORDS | KATHERINE LEASURE
water, a light passing mist. To others, they are storms, they are lightning strikes and thunder claps and flashes across a darkened sky. But to some, to the ones that live in the category fives, hurricanes are hurricanes, and we already know what the world tells us of those. But what they don’t tell you is that these people, in these places, are the ones who know how to fight. How to rebuild. How to stand strong, unmovable even when the wind howls and the rain hammers and thunder roars louder than the voices in their heads screaming run! But child, I tell you, there is this good. There is a perfect endurance, a perfect maturity, a perfect response, a perfect story hidden in the rolling clouds. There is resilience, there is joy, there is strength in the challenge, the hardship, the fight.
III. THE PEACE
But despite the good, hurricanes are heavy. They demand to be met, they demand to be seen. And the floods still sweep their path clean through and the rapids still twist and churn around you, and the rain is a wall that you cannot break, but the Lord your God is there as you shake. He holds you. He has you. For in the midst of the darkness, there is light, and the light is good. In the midst of chaos, there is stillness, and the stillness is good. In the midst of rage, there is peace, and the peace, the peace is good. A rope will be thrown to you, drowning in the flood. One more drop, and the rapids are done, a slow, soft river. The storm will pass, and the rain will be perfect for dancing. You of little faith, why did you doubt? The world doesn’t want you to know, but I’m here to tell you this secret. They never tell you why hurricanes are good. They never tell you that trials are good.
CANYON
WORDS, ILLUSTRATION | CATHERINE TIAN
“Jesus wept.” - John 11:35 i wonder if the ocean roars because it longs for us to hear it to finally respond to its waves as it reaches for us crashing, tumbling, longing… it cries out day and night yet we have become so accustomed to its voice that it now lulls us to sleep with its melody. the great I Am how will You calm this sea that I am in when I am the sea?
the essence of life tainted with a saltiness. You say to be the salt of the Earth how?
when the salt runs in this endless race reaching for a finish line it never finds pulled by a gravity that rivals the weight of my sin. falling into the shape of hieroglyphics only You can read these tears finish the sentences that my throat begins painting Your robes of white with dark marks. a reflection of my sorrow now too your sorrow
You willingly invite
they say rivers erode rock over time the Grand Canyon molded by unending toil. i wonder
if it felt pain as the sediment was lifted by a relentless stream if it knew what it would become. perhaps one day i will find a canyon carved through this heart as well a revelation of Your beauty. for You stand in the canyon beside me as the river that formed it
THE DONKEY AND THE LAKE
WORDS | ELLIOTT CHEN
Outside the main road, lies a little trail
Which leaps over boulders, and ducks under trees
At the end, rests a bridge, and over its rail
You might see a lake, whenever you please
At first, when I was young, I knew only how to wail
My dad took me on the trail, a journey to the lake.
With childish glee, I splashed and sailed
Adventuring through worlds, my mind could make.
Then, a little later, I grew a little older
I only stopped by, to honor my father.
For on my shoulders, sat large boulders
To stop running, would be a dishonor.
The morning came, and I grew a bit parched
Lazy like an ass, took things my pace
Passed the bridge, to the water I marched
Bent over to drink, and ignored my face.
Then around the main road, sprawled a desert, I told others about the lake, in a garbled word barrage
But the others laughed, in a manner most unpleasant
“Look at this oaf, fooled by a mirage.”
So I stubbornly strode on the trail, with a pride sky high
My steps were glib, my vindication secure.
But the trail I walked, became so dry
I could not find the lake, my directions obscured
Discouraged and ashamed, I plod on forward,
Back to the main road, for to my horror
Some time ago, I’d become an ass.
The vultures mocked me, each taking a pass.
But the main road grew long, and I grew tired
Sprawled on the ground, in dust I lay mired
Then I remembered, that the trail to the lake
Wound up and around the woods, for my sake.
So I fumbled along the trail, stumbling and falling
Under my distress, praying and calling.
As I walked forward, it began to rain.
Stinging in my cuts, it soothes my pain.
Standing before the bridge, I find the lake.
A humble treasure, a holy place
Holding bread and cup, given for my sake
The fountain of life, a gift of grace.
Though I’m unworthy, Christ still chose A donkey like me, to carry His prose.
who i am
WORDS | ANSLEY CHENG
i. something keeps pulling me back to this well of grief. i could sit here for hours, maybe, staring at the reflections, drawing up memories to drink –tepid and stale, but tasting just enough of golden hours and shadowed laughter that i can’t stop coming back for more and more and more. i almost fall in but i don’t. how did i even get here? a thousand paths, sleepwalking, exhaustion and envy and loneliness regret and silence and fear. all it takes is an image or a word and i’m back, running off the path, wandering through the ruins of the kingdom i built him in my head, collapsing at this well to drink. wrong kingdom. wrong well. i know it, but the pain is so familiar that it feels like home. please, i just want to be home. is this home? this desperation? scooping up what i can, raising it to my chapped lips, so eager. so certain that this time, this time it will quench my terrible terrible thirst. this time i will find relief. but i don’t. there are only the tears on my face and the tears in my heart and my soul falls in, and i’m lying there, weeping at the well again.
ii.
that’s where you find me. somehow (i never know how) you find me, and you sit down beside me. and i’m scrubbing hard at my eyes to stop the tears, but they keep coming, and you take my hands in yours so gently. those scarred hands. and i sob out, stop. don’t you see? don’t you know who i am? don’t you know how many times i’ve run from you? look at me, i’m a mess. why do you keep coming back? leave me alone. i’m not worth it, this is my exile. and you look at me. and i feel it, feel it as you see me. i feel it as you take in all that i am, all that i so hopelessly am not.
i feel it as you know me, down to the depths of my bones, feel it as you gather up the pieces of my heart. i feel it, as you pick me up –no, please, i’m too heavy, but when i meet your eyes the strength and compassion there silence me completely –i feel it as you carry me in your arms like a filthy ragged child, as you carry me down to the river. somehow i’m not afraid. and as you walk into the waves, the whole of me screams out i think this is what i was made for.
iii.
at first the water’s so cold that it steals the air from my lungs, seizes all my muscles, but your grip never falters for a moment. you speak for the first time, your voice just at whisper, rest, child. and if the stars obey that voice, so must i, so i do. i let go, let my breath out, let my limbs relax, and all at once the relief pours through me like nothing i’ve ever known. there is nothing but the coolness of the water on my lips on my skin cleansing me refreshing me these streams of mercy never ceasing i feel it as they make me new. once i was lost but now i’m surrounded, over my head in this deep and boundless love. again, you speak. do you see? do you know who i am? do you know how many times i’ve run after you? look at me. look at my hands, my feet. i love you, and i’ll never stop coming back. my dearest one, you are never alone. i am your home.
Sometimes I Feel Just Like A Fish
WORDS | SEAN KIM
Sometimes I feel just like a fish. I feel like a freshwater fish dropped in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, surrounded by water, yet dying of dehydration. I feel like a goldfish caged within a glass prison, silently observing as leaves turn from green to amber, as days blur together, as people come and go. I feel like a fish out of water, thrashing against the sand, tormented by the echoes of comfort and safety in the rhythmic waves just inches away. Sometimes I wonder who am I and what am I doing and why am I here. Other times I wonder who should I be and what should I do and where should I be instead. Some days I stop to think, wake up from the trance of daily life, and suddenly I am lost and doubtful and struggle to do basic things that I’ve been doing for years and years. Other days I can’t seem to stop thinking, where the disappointing realities of what is and the haunting whispers of what could have been, what should have been, threaten to overwhelm me. Amidst this desperate struggle to get through another day, amidst the confusion of complex relationships and tangled emotions, amidst the exhaustion produced by endless doubts times countless decisions, I seek help, for I cannot possibly face all this alone. Since I cannot rely upon people, things, or even myself, I need God, my rock, my fortress, my salvation—my one certainty in this world of uncertainty1
Sometimes I feel just like a fish. I feel like a really dumb, stupid fish, unaware of the water that surrounds it. How ironic; fish are born in water, live in water, and die in water, and still fail to comprehend that very same water. If so, how much more pathetic am I? From
the second I was born to the moment I write these words, I have been surrounded by His presence. Never a minute passes by where I am not with Him. Yet how easily I forget Him! Distracted by the ephemeral pleasures of this world, I repeatedly draw away from God, returning to the idols and sins I swore I would forsake before. Despite seeing His hand in the gentle breeze of an autumn day, His love in the joyous laughter of friends, and His wisdom from the prayers He answers, it’s so easy for me to forget. Even demons and the devil himself acknowledge God’s greatness; sometimes, I don’t even remember He exists at all.2 So help me, God. Help me, with my limited, mortal perspective, remember your constant, infinite presence. Help me, with my easily distracted, fragile mind, turn back to you and take comfort in your warmth. And more than anything, help me see. Open my eyes, LORD, like you’ve done again and again in the past so that I can see you where you are and be reminded of your presence. Through triumphant times and turbulent waters, help me so that I do not forget the things my eyes have seen or let them fade from my heart.3 Let me not forget that you breathe life into me forever and always.
Sometimes I feel just like a fish. I feel like a fish swimming furiously in a river, headed towards some faraway, unknown destination, propelled more by instinct and habit rather than passion and inspiration. Amidst the daily hustle and bustle, questions and doubts bombard me like rocks to the head. Where does this river lead? Is this the right path? Do I even want to go where this is headed? And maybe, I should head in another direction. This river is vast and wide; there are countless offshoots I could take, streams that will lead me elsewhere. But if I do diverge, which path shall I pick? How do I know whether that course is a tributary, flowing
towards something greater, or a distributary, taking me away from where I want to be? But then I tear my gaze away from that faraway destination, that fateful ‘end’ I’ve been racing towards, and look around. I gaze at the birds of the air, who do not worry and still find food every night. I gaze at the lilies in fields that do not toil and yet still grow to be bright and beautiful.4 I gaze at the fish of the river who do not know where they are headed yet still arrive where they need to be. There is no grand destination; there is no grand finale. The ‘end’ I’ve been so fixated upon is only the farthest point my mortal eyes can see. But in the face of perfect design and omniscient plans, I realize where I am is where I am meant to be. The heart of man plans his way, but the LORD establishes his steps.5 The LORD provides for the birds, the flowers, and fish; then for me, who our heavenly father treasures, why should I worry? Do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself.6
Sometimes I feel just like a fish—small, unknowing, caught in a river too big for me to understand. But maybe that’s all I need to be—a fish, led by the current, trusting in the water surrounding it. For just as the fish relies on the water to carry it, so too will I trust in the LORD to lead me, knowing that He is the river that sustains me and the current that will bring me home.
1 Psalm 18:2
2 James 2:19
3 Deuteronomy 4:9
4 Matthew 6:26-30
5 Proverbs 16:9
6 Matthew 6:34
