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Around The Sun: A Meeting With The Angels Of Hell

Steve Harrison faces up to Hell's Angels on a lonely Texas road.

If only there were evil people over there somewhere individually committing wicked deeds and it were necessary only to separate them from the rest of us to destroy evil. But the line dividing good from evil cuts right through the very heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart? Aleksander Solzhenitsyn “The Gulag Archipelago”.

Nobody could ever accuse me of being a brave man. The reverse is the case. I was a fast runner when I was a kid. I could run for miles. My very good friend Barry Goodal advised "There is nothing so big or scary that you can’t run away from it. Never stand your ground. Flee.''

I say this so you will understand that my actions on the evening I met the Hell's Angels was out of character.

I was 35 years old. I was still running. Every morning I jogged several miles. Most evenings I went out walking, alone. I was a solitary creature, always deep in anxious thought or praying. I preferred my own company.

On this particular evening I was walking one of the back roads. The moon was full and the night clear. I was meditating, just walking along the side of the road kicking dust, when along came a low slung car at high speed. It swung towards me then swerved just in time to miss me. Heads were hanging our of its open windows, hurling abuse at me.

Hell! What was all this about?

The car's brake lights came on. It did a 180 degree turn then its lights were dazzling me. Surely this sort of thing only happened in movies?

Now the vehicle was bearing down on me again. Normally I would have turned and fled. This night was different. I stood my ground.

Possibilities raced through my head. If I ran I could be mowed down. If I stood my ground I could be mowed down.

My feet became stone anchors. I raised my left arm, pointing at the windscreen of the oncoming vehicle.

When it was what seemed only inches away it swerved around me then came to an abrupt halt. Inside it were five Hell's Angels, each one of them grinning insanely.

I determined that their leader was a rough-looking guy in the middle of the rear seat. I pointed a finger at him. "There is a divine purpose in this,'' I told him. "You are here at this moment in time to come face to face with God, the creator of the universe. One day you will die and go into the fiery furnace of hell unless you come to terms with Jesus Christ, the only one who can raise people from the dead.''

It was a brief but strong sermon.

In conclusion I suggested that their ring leader should come to my house, there to sort his life out with God.

They remained silent. The car's engine was fired up and they drove off.

Around 4 in the morning I was woken by a knocking on my door. It was the ring leader, Michael. He came in and we talked until sunrise. He surprised me. He read the Bible avidly. He was hungry to discover the truth of God's word.

Soon after that he was baptised and joined the church. He turned up for services every Sunday, bringing his wife and children with him, all of them in tattered clothing.

Sadly at that time churches in the southern United States were reluctant to accept people from all walks of life. Whites did not mix with blacks. Hell's Angels did not mingle with the middle classes. I managed to get Michael into the church, but I never succeeded in getting him into the hearts of my congregation.


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