Pastor: Lightning Bolt That Hit Giant Jesus Was No 'Act of God'

About 11:15 Monday night, a 65-foot Jesus was struck by lightning and burned to the ground in southern Ohio.

See why I always am bragging about the Buckeye State? Never a dull moment around here.

No human was injured or killed. Thank God.

The giant Jesus, titled the "King of Kings," was a statue of steel, Styrofoam and fiberglass that rose like a glacier on the grounds of Solid Rock Church in the tiny town of Monroe. If you've traveled on Interstate 75 between Dayton and Cincinnati over the past six years, you saw it unless you were sleeping or arguing with someone in the car. It was huge and illuminated and depicted Jesus only from the shoulders up with his hands raised 42 feet apart toward the sky.

This Jesus drew crowds — and coverage. Some saw it as a sign from God. Others condemned it as a graven image. More than a few couldn't say much of anything because they were rendered speechless at the sight of it.

The statue also was the backdrop for mischievous photographers. One photo on the Web, for example, showed students spelling out Ohio by using Jesus for the "H." Another showed two women high-fiving Jesus.

The statue earned numerous nicknames, including "Touchdown Jesus" and "Quicksand Jesus," and inspired a song titled "Big Butter Jesus" after comedian Heywood Banks saw the statue on his way to a gig in Dayton. Banks thought the statue looked like one of those butter sculptures at a county fair. He was rather stunned:

Well, don't make no graven images.

That's one of the Ten Commandments.

I hope the grading curve is kindly.

You get to heaven with a 90.

I'd seen the giant Jesus many times on my drives through the state. When I heard it'd been struck by lightning, I was a little taken aback. What could it mean? So I called the church, where nursery director Karen Isbell was answering the phone.

"I'm sure the devil is angry," she said. "I keep quoting Paul: 'Where I would do good, evil is always present.'"

Head Pastor Lawrence Bishop sees it differently.

I called him at his LB Ranch, where he raises and sells horses and cattle just two miles from the church. Some news reports put the damage at $300,000, but Bishop said the Jesus statue cost about $750,000 to build and install.

It started out small.

"My wife and I planned for it to be 6 feet tall," he said. "But the longer we talked the bigger it got, until it was 65 feet high with hands the size of dump trucks. Right before the election in 2004, we had reporters from 20 different nations asking what it meant. Who knows how many saw it as a sign from God?"

He does not, however, think God had anything to do with the demise of their giant Jesus.

"I don't see anything spiritual about this," he said. "The frame was made of steel, and lightning hits steel. It could have been a horse or a donkey; if it was made with steel, it was going to get struck by lightning. But what that statue expressed can't be destroyed."

He's about had it with people blaming God for tragedies.

"People want to blame God for the flood in Arkansas, for tsunamis, for tornadoes. That whole 'act of God' thing was made up by insurance companies so they don't have to pay up."

The question hovered in the air like steam rising from doused cinders.

"I don't know yet how much the insurance company will cover," he said. "But no matter what, we're going to rebuild that Jesus."

Hours after the fire was extinguished, comedian Banks already was working on new lyrics for "Big Butter Jesus." When I reached him by phone Tuesday morning, he said he was halfway done with a new verse.

"What's that drink you set on fire?" he said. "I've already got Flambé Jesus and Baked Alaska Jesus, but now I'm looking for a fire-related drink."

Meanwhile, Pastor Bishop has plans.

"I put a sign out this morning that says, 'I will be back,'" he said. "The steel frame is sound. We raised the money before, and we'll raise it again. 'Course, everything's more expensive now."

Guess that leaves only one question:

What would Jesus do?

The real one, I mean.

Connie Schultz is a Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist for The Plain Dealer in Cleveland and an essayist for Parade magazine. To find out more about Connie Schultz (cschultz@plaind.com) and read her past columns, please visit the Creators Syndicate Web page at www.creators.com.

COPYRIGHT 2010 CREATORS.COM