A storm that raged more than 100 years ago hit a religious camp meeting hardest.

When lightning strikes, we tend to think of it as an act of God. Then what does it mean when lightning strikes a worship service? Residents of Kingfield must have asked themselves this question after the bizarre events of a summer day in 1902.

On a Friday afternoon in August about a hundred years ago, Mrs. Barker attended the Holiness Camp Meeting in her hometown of Kingfield. Part social event, part religious ceremony, camp meetings were popular at the time.

A dynamic traveling minister could often attract crowds who congregated under massive tents to hear the word of the Lord. Townspeople looked forward to seeing friends and neighbors and to chat about the weather and crops. They expected to hear a forceful sermon from a man of the cloth who called upon them to change their evil ways.

The air hung heavy over Kingfield on this Friday afternoon when Mrs. Barker ventured out to hear the Rev. Truman’s sermon. Mrs. Barker was 55 years old, a respected member of the Baptist Church and mother of four.

By 1902, two of her children were grown and gone while the two youngest still lived at home. She was without her husband, George, a carpenter, who had gone to Madrid that day, but in the crowded tent she was surrounded by friends.

The storm began in the middle of the service and was as sudden as it was violent. Before anyone had time to react, the wind was whipping through the camp meeting field, the rain was coming down in sheets, thunder was clapping continuously and lightning was flashing everywhere.

Then, in the midst of the Holiness Camp Meeting, a bolt of lightning struck the tent. In a flash, several worshippers, including the Rev. Truman’s young daughter, were knocked unconscious by the shock. Mrs. Barker was gone. The bolt of lightning that knocked out several people in the congregation had struck her dead. The same afternoon, lightning hit the Kingfield Methodist Church as well as the Holiness Camp Meeting.

In other parts of Kingfield, the torrential rain wreaked havoc along with the lightning.

Roads, culverts and bridges were washed out. Two women narrowly escaped drowning when their team and carriage nearly plunged into a raging stream; they didn’t know the bridge had washed out.

Grain crops around Kingfield had shown much promise that summer until they were ruined by one afternoon’s torrential rains.

Damage from the summer storm of 1902 was sporadic. The Fryeburg area sustained a heavy downfall of hail an inch thick that destroyed all of the town’s crops. Heavy rains between Rumford and Dixfield washed out the rail lines in several spots. Meanwhile, many localities in central Maine were not hit at all that Friday afternoon.

But for the community of Kingfield, and especially the Barker family, the storm made a mark that could never be altered.

Luann Yetter has researched and written a history column for the Sun Journal for the past nine years. She teaches writing at the University of Maine at Farmington. Additional research for this column by David Farady.