I still remember an article I read from the color-coded SRA Reading Laboratory box in the sixth grade. It described the power of lightning in a true story of a potato farm in Idaho. Lightning struck a field, leaving an acre of baked potatoes in the ground. I was impressed.

Fast forward to my college years. I visited friends in Macon, Georgia, just after a recent powerful thunderstorm. They took me to a school baseball diamond where a boy had died after being struck by lightning. I saw the charred outlines of two child-sized shoes burned into the red dirt. It’s one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen.

I had my own little experience during that same time frame. I had a summer job in Port St. Joe, Florida, and lived in a garage apartment just two blocks from the Gulf of Mexico. While doing dishes during an afternoon thunderstorm, my body felt the electrical charge of a nearby lightning strike as the spoon I was washing flipped out of my hand. Close call, there! I was fine but learned my lesson about lightning safety.

Some things are natural conductors for lightning: water, metal, electrical wires, and tall objects. Some people seem to be lightning rods for controversy, attracting the fury of opposition from their adversaries.

I am grateful for truth-tellers who take the heat for the rest of us, but I have never been one of those people. Another snippet from my college days, although I was a Student Government Association Senate member, I never wanted to wade into controversy. I valued my friendships with students from many factions and being liked over most principles. In fact, I was known for abstaining from most votes. “All in favor, say aye.”  “All against?”  “Does anyone abstain besides Dottie?” I lost the respect of my colleagues because I didn’t commit to or stand up for some of the issues they thought were essential to college life.

I think I’ve grown a backbone over the past fifty years. It still has quite a bit of flexibility because I enjoy understanding various sides of issues. I have learned so much, but I’ve differentiated my principles and solidified my commitments. However, I’m still not cut out to be a lightning rod. I don’t want to find myself a baked potato in a scorched field.

My church sits on a hill. Those living in mountainous areas may laugh and ask, “What hill?” However, even on the flat lands of the Gulf Coast, we do have some rise and fall of elevation on topographical maps. Anyway, our towering steeple is a point of reference in the area. As you can imagine, it gets struck by lightning several times per year.

We are currently a United Methodist Church, which has become a lightning rod denomination. I try to keep up with all the available information from various news sources, but it is overwhelming. It’s also pretty ugly. As a local church, we cannot avoid being swept up in the controversies of the denomination, but our pastor has done a fantastic job keeping the congregation informed.

Atop our steeple, you see a cross. It attracts and channels the electrical charges. As a result, it bears the burden of the potential death and destruction from the power of lightning strikes.

Humanity has a certain helplessness against the forces of nature. We are defenseless against our own destructive, fallen natures, and we are powerless over our inevitable death. But we look, not specifically to the cross, but to Jesus who happened to die on one. He is our helper, our comforter, our deliverer, and Savior. He is our Lightning Rod.

I still may not stick my neck out regarding many controversial issues, and certainly not on social media, but I have an unshakable faith in Jesus. Controversies come and go. Church conflicts come and go. Denominations come and go. I look to an Eternal God, His Everlasting Word, and an Undying Body of Believers. I can speak up about those truths, which are not half-baked ideas. God will sort out the rest.

I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God for the salvation of everyone who believes: first for the Jew, then for the Gentile. – Romans 1:16 

If lightning were to strike me today, and all that’s left are my charred footprints, you can rest assured I’m not languishing with the eternal dead. I’ll be rejoicing in the presence of a good and merciful Father and in awe of what Revelation 4:5 describes as lightning and peals of thunder surrounding his throne.

Today’s lightning photos are from Pixabay. I took the pictures of my church.