The River That Refused to Stay in Its Banks

In 1966, the Arno River in Florence, Italy, burst through every barrier the city had built over centuries. Floodwaters did not check credentials at the door of the Biblioteca Nazionale. They did not pause at the threshold of Santa Croce or ask permission before entering the basements where priceless manuscripts lay stored. The water went everywhere — into the workshops of goldsmiths and the apartments of washerwomen alike, into cathedrals and corner shops, soaking the velvet seats of the opera house with the same indifference it showed the wooden stools of a trattoria on the Via dei Neri.

What followed surprised everyone. Thousands of young volunteers — soon called the Angels of the Mud — arrived from dozens of countries. Art students worked beside retired bricklayers. Teenagers who spoke no Italian passed waterlogged books hand over hand with Florentine grandmothers. No one asked who was qualified.

This is what the prophet Joel saw when he spoke of the Spirit being poured out on all flesh. Not a careful distribution through approved channels, but a flood. Sons and daughters prophesying. Old men dreaming. Servants — the ones society had written off — suddenly carrying the voice of the Almighty. God's Spirit, like the Arno, refuses to respect the barriers we build between who is worthy and who is not. Joel's promise is that the Most High drenches everyone.