When Lightning Danced on a Simple Key

In June 1752, Benjamin Franklin and his son William walked to an open field on the outskirts of Philadelphia, carrying a silk kite fitted with a pointed wire at its top. A metal key hung where the hemp string met a dry silk ribbon Franklin gripped for insulation. As dark storm clouds rolled overhead, Franklin launched the kite into the charged sky and waited.

For long minutes, nothing happened. Then the loose fibers along the hemp string began to stand erect, bristling with invisible energy. Franklin brought his knuckle toward the key and felt the sharp crack of a spark leap to his skin. Lightning — that terrifying, ancient force that had mystified humanity since the first thunderclap — was electrical. He collected the charge in a Leyden jar, calm and methodical, as thunder shook the Pennsylvania sky above him.

Franklin solved a mystery that day. But he did not tame the storm.

Job 37:3-5 reminds us that God "unleashes His lightning beneath the whole heaven" and "thunders in marvelous ways; He does great things beyond our understanding." Franklin identified one mechanism behind the flash, yet the sheer scale of a thunderstorm — billions of volts arcing across miles of sky — remains as staggering now as it was then.

Understanding how something works need not shrink our wonder. If anything, the deeper we look into creation, the louder we hear the voice of the Creator thundering through it.