The River Was Never Meant to Stay Still
As we near the end of The Story of Desire series, the river has begun to take shape.
We’ve learned how a shepherd leads sheep to settled water, often making small diversions to create space to drink, and how the banks of shared life begin to hold the current together. Over time, what once felt scattered begins to settle. What once rushed begins to slow; enough to receive refreshment in a fast-paced world.
In our annual micro-getaways to Niagara-on-the-Lake, my wife Lorna and I never end our stay without spending extended time watching the Niagara River. It’s an essential part of the largest fresh water system on earth. Acting as a channel, the Niagara carries water northward from Lake Erie, over Niagara Falls, and into Lake Ontario. But a river isn’t formed simply to be watched – or only to receive refreshment. A river flows – not with urgency, not with force, but with a steady movement that carries life beyond itself.
And so a question starts to emerge, not as a requirement but as something we recognize. What happens when we’ve learned to drink from The Gentle Shepherd, and then start living from what we’ve received?
From Drinking to Giving
At first, the focus of Christian community is simple:
- Learning to remain.
- Learning to receive.
- Learning not to rush past what’s being given.
But over time, something shifts. What we once needed, becomes something we start carrying.
Not because we’re trying to give more. Not because we’re sent out to do a task. But because the life Jesus gives, when received, has a way of being freely given beyond a church institution and structure.
- I’m not talking about adding a new church program.
- It’s not one more layer added to the structure of the organization.
Instead, it’s the natural movement of a river that’s no longer just being held. Now, it starts to flow – through us to others.
Not Driven – Carried
At this point, it’s easy to slip back into familiar patterns. They feel familiar because they feel safe, stable and secure. And, familiarity breeds contempt; not hate but diminishing value – a cheapening of relationships where it’s easier to turn outward movement into:
- pressure
- expectation
- responsibility
However, all this does is take us back to the same currents of control and compliance that once rushed the river. However, the movement I’ve been describing through this Story of Desire series is different.
- It’s not driven.
- It’s carried.
Water flows because that’s what water is. Its molecules are free to move. Similarly, a Christian community shaped by settled presence is free to move by extending that presence into the spaces it already lives into.
- Homes.
- Neighbourhoods.
- Conversations.
- Ordinary, everyday moments.
This isn’t a strategy or a timeline. Like the Niagara River into Lake Ontario, it’s an overflow of what’s freely given.
The Same Currents Still Press
I try to be a realist. The truth is, the pressures we’ve already named don’t disappear:
- The pull toward acquisition still whispers: secure more, hold tighter.
- The current of stimulation still fragments attention and accelerates life.
- The longing for belonging still tempts us to perform, to manage perception, to protect ourselves.
These currents don’t stop at the edge of a Christian community. They continue to press as the river moves outward. Which means, what we’ve learned from practicing together, now needs to live within those same pressures. In a commitment-based Christian community, we can’t fix friction but we can flow with friction.
- Not perfectly.
- But intentionally.
Rehearsing the River in Everyday Life
I present Part 4 as an alternative Christian social order that currently rehearses God’s creation vision from a perspective of physical resurrection not from this world to somewhere else, but to renewed world. I can’t conceive of the mechanics of it all, but I trust in God’s vision; a marriage of a new heaven and a new earth.
Today, I invite us to rehearse God’s creation vision where rehearsal moves beyond our gathered space and into our lived experience. These best practices aren’t more rules to follow; they’re ways of remaining in the current we’ve come to know.
Some of these are so simple we can overlook them:
- Returning to the table – not only in scheduled gatherings, but in making space for share-a-dish meals in ordinary time.
- Resisting the pull of constant stimulation by choosing moments of quiet, even when everything else invites distraction.
- Holding space for others without rushing to fix, advise, or resolve but staying faithful in friction.
- Practicing presence in conversation – listening fully, without thinking about the next response.
- Making room for joy and grief without needing to manage either.
Please hear me. These aren’t techniques. I offer them as small ways of saying: The river we’ve learned to drink from – is the same river we’re learning to live in.
A Different Kind of Influence
Ours is a world of activists, influencers and lobbyists. Nothing I suggest here looks impressive. I am presenting something that goes beyond an institutional church framework.
- No measurements.
- No clear outcomes.
- No visible scale.
Yet, something real starts to happen. People can feel it before they can name it.
- Space begins to open.
- Conversations deepen.
- Trust forms quietly.
Not because something is being pushed outward, but because something different is being carried. The kind of influence I talk about doesn’t seek attention or attempt to make people listen. It’s more like the way water shapes stone.
- Slowly.
- Patiently.
- Over time.
The River and the Landscape
A river is considered a “Ribbon of Life.” The Canadian Wildlife Foundation explains:
The strip of moisture loving trees, shrubs, and herbaceous plants along the edge of a lake, river, wetland, or other watery habitat is called the buffer zone. This ribbon of life enhances the beauty of the shoreline; shades and prevents the heating of water, which can kill aquatic creatures; protects water quality by filtering the run-off of pollutants like fertilizers and pesticides from land; controls soil erosion, which muddies streams and ruins fish spawning habitat; and provides food, cover, and nesting sites for a rich variety of life forms on land and in water.
Rivers do more than sustain those within them. They shape the land around them.
- They carve new paths.
- They nourish what grows nearby.
- They make life possible beyond their own banks.
In the same way, a Christian community that’s learned to live in the River of God begins to affect the spaces it touches.
- Not by imposing itself.
- Not by striving for impact.
- But by being present in a way that’s increasingly rare these days.
Instead, this Christian community presents in a way that’s:
- Not rushed.
- Not transactional.
- Not driven by outcome.
Plainly, present.
Learning to Remain While Moving
I’m not blowing sunshine; such a community isn’t all butterflies and buttercups. This is probably the most challenging part of what I’m talking about. Because, movement often pulls us away from what formed us. Our desire is easily misdirected however, the invitation isn’t to leave the river for other pastures as it flows outward toward others, but to stay within it.
- To carry the same attentiveness.
- The same willingness to receive.
- The same trust that we’re not the source of life Jesus gives.
So, even as the river moves, we continue to drink. Even as life extends outward toward others and all creation, we keep returning.
Looking Ahead: The River in Fullness
As we begin to see the river move – within us, among us, and beyond us – we’re brought back to the question that’s quietly been present in the Garden since the start of this story.
Where’s this river going?
Or perhaps better; what I’ve subtly hinted at throughout this Story of Desire series:
What’s this river becoming?
As I see it, Scripture doesn’t end with a scattered stream or even a formed community.
It ends with a river in fullness.
In the next and final article, we’ll return to that vision. It’s not seen as something distant, but as the reality toward which every small act of presence, every shared table, and every settled moment here and now, already points to what’s not yet fulfilled.