Ministry Moments:
Angels in the Pool Hall
by Lynn Ridenhour
Son, I beg you, please don’t go. Town
citizens are stocking up on ammunition…"
The mayor of my little hometown had recently taunted a motorcycle gang in
the Belle Banner, our town newspaper. The gang lived on the outskirts of town
and was demanding a printed apology from the mayor—or else. Or else they
were threatening to shoot up the town on Halloween night. And come after the
mayor.
We were scheduled to play in the pool hall that night. I’ve mentioned
before, we had formed a Jesus Band, "The Voice," and were playing in
pool halls, parks, and just about anywhere they’d let us set up.
Mom, of course, was concerned for her son. Town citizens were buying up
shotgun shells and slugs and bullets for their guns. Herb Henley, our sheriff,
had put on an extra deputy.
"…Mom, we’ve got to keep our commitment. Besides, I don’t think
anything will happen…"
I wasn’t really that confident but I felt like I had to say it.
We drove the van loaded with our instruments and parked it in front of the
pool hall. It wasn’t quite dark yet, but already kids were beginning to walk
around the streets in their costumes. It was a custom in our small town for
the kids to soap up all the store windows. And to play harmless pranks. And
some not so harmless.
Finally we had all the instruments unloaded and set up. The band had begun
to play and the pool hall was filling up. Mostly with young people but some
adults were shooting snooker on the back table. There was some deadeye farmer
snooker players that could shoot the eyes out of the pockets. Money always
changed hand in the back of the pool hall. There only the serious mingled.
I was watching the crowd. We had never played in this pool hall before. I
always liked to watch the mixed reactions. And I had seen it before. You hear
this rock & roll sound coming from the band. They indeed sound rock &
roll—until you listen closely to their words! Those longhaired dudes up
front with their leather jackets & headbands were singing words like
"Jesus" and "God" and "Holy Ghost" to the tune
of rock & roll. Yet they looked like a bunch of hippies.
I must confess—I loved watching God do His thing. I never tired of it.
The Spirit of God is more powerful than any spirit in this world. And I was
once again about to find out. I’ve seen Him break down the walls of
prejudice and unbelief and bitterness and hatred. I’ve seen Him move in pool
halls before. The Spirit of God really moves when The Voice ministers.
Danny, our drummer, told me how he was saved. He was living out in the
country with a group of musicians in an old rundown, dilapidated farmhouse in
Huntsville, Alabama. They were heavy metal musicians living a lifestyle of
wild women, drugs, and concerts. Freedom was the name of the game. One
afternoon Danny and a couple of the other musicians were jamming out in the
front yard when the Holy Spirit moved on them and saved them while they were
playing a Black Sabbath arrangement. The Spirit revealed Jesus Christ, the Son
of the living God, to each of them. Without any human instrument! The
members went back inside and shared Christ with the other heavy metal members
and were kicked out.
I looked around the pool hall and liked what I saw. The band was good
tonight. Young people were playing the pinball machine; you could hear the
banging of the pool balls and the chatter in the background. Though the music
was loud, it wasn’t too loud. And once in awhile the words "Jesus"
and "God" seem to float through the poolroom. I began to sense the
Lord’s presence. I thought, "…here we are, bringing the gospel to the
poor & downtrodden at heart. And there’s nothing at all religious about
what we’re doing…"
I was standing against the wall with a friend taking it all in. We were
watching the scene together when the Lord spoke to me. "…Go over to
the pinball machine and share my love with that teenage girl…"
I excused myself and walked over to the pinball machine. She was a
beautiful young girl with smooth skin and dark complexion and dark brown eyes.
Couldn’t have been more than 14 or 15. Her hair was long, straight, and
black. She had on a long brown leather jacket with frills on her sleeves and a
pair of jeans.
"…Are you winning?…"
She didn’t look up.
"…My name is Lynn…"
She still didn’t acknowledge me.
"…I’m here to let you know that our Lord loves you…"
"…He can’t love me…" She went on playing the pinball
machine.
Sometimes we speak too glibly. "…O, the Lord loves everybody…"
"…Not me…" She took her hands off the flippers and let
the ball fall into its slot. Then looked me cold in the eye. "…I’m
a lesbian…" And shot the next ball.
I froze. And immediately realized I had been much too glib. My heart sunk.
My mind was racing a mile a minute. What could I say that would seem real to
this young girl.
"…Tell you what. You let Pat and Mary talk with you. Please…"
I was really praying on the inside. Mary had just recently met the Lord.
Her countenance shone. Mary came down to The Upper Room one day, walked in on
me suddenly, and said she was there to read my mind. That she had "the
gift." And that her Baha’i faith had set her free. I ended up reading
her mind—the Lord did, that is—and she became a believer in Jesus Christ
that day. She was reveling in the God of Israel. Pat was a young lady in her
early 20s who was a high school teacher there in Belle.
"…Pat, Mary, come here…" I motioned with my hand.
They somehow heard me above the music and chatter and walked over.
"…This is Liz. Would you mind taking Liz somewhere close and tell
her about the Lord?..."
Pat’s apartment was just up the street. Both nodded enthusiastically. I
looked at Liz and she grabbed her purse. The three of them left
together. She still had two balls left.
I was sensing in my spirit that the Lord was pouring out His Spirit as the
band continued to play. The mood was changing. I looked and saw one of our
sisters sitting cross-legged in her jeans with a teen underneath one of the
pool tables. She was reading scripture to the teen as the guys kept shooting
pool around the table.
Then they came. In walked the bikers. They started filing in one by one. I
could see their bikes parked out front. The band kept playing. The girls kept
witnessing under the table. The bikers grabbed their cues and took an empty
table. The mood was still spiritual. I let things alone and let the Lord do
His thing.
The Spirit was there. The band was good. Before long the music was getting
to the bikers. They liked it but didn’t. It was a different kind of spirit
behind the sound and behind the words. I saw a miracle. I saw hard hearts
become tender. One biker began to quietly weep. I did something I never would
normally do. I leaned over the pool table as one of the bikers was about to
take aim and said, "…The Lord really does love you…" His
eyes, filled with water, glanced up at me. And he missed the shot.
We were having Pentecost in the Pool Hall. Other bikers were gently crying.
The band kept playing. Bibles were out now and my gang was standing around
praying with grown men who moments ago were playing snooker for five dollar
bills. One of our sisters was talking to a gang member in the corner.
People stopped playing pool and turned their full attention to the band.
Then it happened. I was over in the corner talking to a biker. My Uncle
Dick Ridenhour, drunk and staggering like a wild man, came busting through the
door, grabbed a pool stick out of one of the biker’s hands, snapped it in
half, and stood there like a batter at the plate, ready to swing at the first
pitch. For a quick moment, I got real tense. Is this the rumble we’ve been
waiting for? Are the town folks coming? Uncle Dick was standing there
next to a biker, standing "at bat," looking around in a stupor with
a smirk on his face. I was saying under my breath, "…please don’t
swing, Uncle Dick. Please don’t…"
Then the power of God came over my uncle. Everyone noticed something was
happening. As quickly as my uncle grabbed the cue stick, he dropped it, and
walked out. You have to know--my uncle has a complete metamorphosis of
personality when he’s drinking. He’s the nicest guy in the world sober you
could ever meet; he’s the meanest guy in the world drinking you could ever
meet. And bikers typically don't take the kind of verbal and
physical abuse my uncle was demonstrating. Normally they would have
been all over him in a hertbeat. I knew God had intervened. No question.
The band continued playing and God finished what He started. Many were
saved that evening. About that time Mary, Pat, and Liz came walking through
the door. I took one look at Liz and saw the glow in her countenance. She had
met the Lord. She reminded me of Mary Magdalene—cleansed and made
whole. It was a wild night.
The only rumbling that took place that evening was in the heavenlies. There
were angels in the Pool Hall on Halloween.
