The Angel Moroni atop the LDS Oquirrh Mountain Temple looks a bit worse for wear right now. Last Saturday, he got zapped by lightning.

Witnesses reported a bright flash of light, a single B-flat note ending in a ducklike quack heard as far away as Idaho, followed by the usual self-congratulatory applause of thunder.

A billion volts blasted the gold leaf off Moroni, turning his horn, face and arm black. In a program known as Regilding for the Dead, the LDS Church plans to fix him before the dedication in August.

As expected, the incident touched off a debate over how/why such a thing could happen. Opinions -- many fixable with medication -- range from God's feelings about Mormons to the natural phenomenon of air ionization.

"Maybe you Mormons will get a better idea about our Lord and Saver [sic] now," wrote one reader.

"Heavenly Father was just showing everyone how indestructible the temples are," another claimed.

Finally, "If the tornado in '99 missing the downtown temple was divine intervention, what do you people plan on calling this?"

Good point. I call it playing with fire. But that's just me: First things first. Temporal explanations always occur to me before the spiritual. Stick something big and metallic into the air during a thunderstorm and I say you're asking for it.

Before you rush off in a snit, I'm not saying that the Oquirrh Mountain Temple isn't the house of the Lord. I am saying that Mother Nature apparently doesn't care. To her, it's just a handy electrical conduit on a hill.

It's the first thing I thought of when I went to the temple just a few hours before the strike. Friday evening, I was one of hundreds of LDS Church volunteers helping with the open house.

Because I don't have the proper spirit to be an effective usher inside the temple, or even the patience to help with parking outside, the church found me a portable bathroom to monitor.

The bathroom trailer was in a busy spot. It was almost directly underneath the temple's spire. High above me, Moroni trumpeted salvation to the world -- and an ominous sky.

"Cool angel," I thought. "I hope this place has a lightning rod."

I don't know if other people entertained such low, temporal thoughts. Many approached my spot in reverential awe as they gazed up at Moroni. They assembled loved ones and took pictures with him in the background.

Most people came to my station with more pressing business in mind. Some were clearly in personal distress, while others towed small, semi-hysterical children. None of these looked up at Moroni.

Being a temporal sort, I understood completely. When a far more earthly need to go becomes urgent, wherever you think you're going spiritually has to wait a minute.

Robert Kirby can be reached at rkirby@sltrib.com.