Archive: My Hard Rock World

By Lenny Stadler with Ruth Snyder

It was like I was falling and there was no bottom. The surgeon had given me the prognosis … a 50/50 chance. Just like flipping a coin—heads you live, tails you die!

We had a concert at Chapel Hill, North Carolina that night. The mammoth wall of amplifiers screamed heavy metal rock and roll behind me. My ears pounded from the blast of music, and my eyes burned from the thick cloud of smoke. I played my bass—knowing that I was dying.

The guys in the band offered me a joint. “Smoke this,” they said, “you’ll feel better.” They didn’t care. It was me, not them.

But God was close by that night. And I was strangely aware of His presence. He wanted to speak to me: “Choose this day whom you will serve.”

I was raised in a Christian home. But I had lost interest in church and in God. I knew if Christ was the Lord of my life I couldn’t “do my thing.” So, I chose my god—rock music. I chose my goal—to become successful in a musical career that would bring me fame and fortune.

My parents tried to convince me to pursue a college education. But I had no interest in studies. One morning during my sophomore year at Elon College I heaved my books down the hall in disgust. I was finished. I dropped out of college to pursue my goal.

I bounced from one rock band to another. Each band was a bit more successful than the previous one. I investigated every potentially successful avenue. A “roadie” told me of a band from New Jersey named Blackfoot. The group had disbanded, but there was a possibility of their regrouping. I was willing to try to help bring the band back together.

Through some negotiations the members were reunited and the band relocated in North Carolina. I was the new bass player. Big time rock and roll … I was sure I had arrived.

As the bass player for Blackfoot I had an image to project. I grew my hair very long and my mustache drooped down over my chin.

I dressed like a rock musician was expected to dress. I acted like a rock musician was expected to act.

We toured the eastern seaboard, playing in nightclubs and colosseums. Soon we began negotiations with a major record company for a recording contract. We were beginning to taste fame, and “super-stardom ” appeared to be within our grasp.

Traveling was tiresome and hazardous, sometimes even life-threatening. But playing music was my only happiness. I lived to hear the crowds cheer. I lived to please the fans and took pride in their devotion to us.

Night after night my performance was almost exactly the same as the concert before. It became routine. Some nights were monotonous and often I didn’t feel like performing up to expectations–on or off the stage. When finally the lights were turned out, the crowds had gone home, and the concert hall doors were closed, we were left with emptiness and loneliness.

Drugs temporarily filled the barren gap between performances. Rock and roll came to mean “gigs” and “joints,” feeling low and getting high.

All the while my parents faithfully continued to greet me when I returned from a concert tour. They kept on loving me and praying for me. My family was always there, like a good thorn in my side.

Nearly every week I went to my grandparents’ home for a meal. My long hair dangled close to the table. I sat in silence as my grandparents filled my ears with Bible stories. They relentlessly pursued me.

I will never forget the look on my grandfather’s face when he told me, “I don’t know what it’s going to take, Lenny, but some way God is going to wake you up. Someday God is going to answer our prayers for you.” His words lingered, but my obsession with rock music continued.

Behind the scene, big bashes and pot parties were all part of rock and roll life. One night after a concert some friends invited the band to a party being given in our honor. Dozens of people were crowded into the house. Someone brought out cafeteria trays filled with every drug imaginable, and booze was available to everyone.

There I was, indulging in it all when suddenly a violent pain struck me in the chest. It was so severe that it took my breath and I fell to the floor gasping. I couldn’t breathe. It was as if someone had stabbed me with a dagger.

My friends hovered over me. They were high themselves, though, and didn’t know what was happening. “Man, he must have had too much,” somebody muttered. Soon the pains left, just as quickly as they had come. But after that attack they began re-occurring nearly every day.

Mentally and physically fatigued, I reluctantly consented to see a doctor. An examination revealed a tumor on my bronchial tube near the heart. The surgeon said frankly, “If there is any malignancy you only have a 50/50 chance to live.”

I was scheduled for major surgery at Duke Medical Center. For two weeks I waited in anguish. I isolated myself. I contemplated … everything. My false god could not help me now. My world had collapsed.

“Lenny,” Mom said, “we want you to come over to your grandparents for dinner. The whole family is getting together in your honor before you go to the hospital.” I agreed, and arrived at the house early. As I pulled up in the driveway my grandfather’s words echoed through my mind. “One day, Lenny, God is going to wake you up.” I was aware then that I was a spiritual battlefield. Suddenly I didn’t want to confront my grandparents.

I was certain something strange was going on when no one greeted me at the door. Hesitantly, I moved through the house and turned the corner to the living room. There were my grandparents sitting with their faces in their hands, praying for me. I sat down next to my grandmother. She continued in prayer. My hard heart melted. I began to cry.

I hadn’t cried in years. I had forgotten what tears tasted like. I had forgotten many things—including who I was. Maybe I had never known. But whoever I was, my life was about to end. I couldn’t afford to pretend any longer.

“Papa,” I said to my grandfather, “will God hear my prayer? Is it too late for me?”

Through his tears I saw his blue eyes widen with joy. “Yes, son, God is always ready.”

So I prayed, “Jesus, if You are who You claim to be, I need You in my life.” A spiritual healing and reconciliation occurred in me that night, the eve of my 21st birthday. For the first time I knew real peace because I knew Jesus. This was the greatest miracle of my life.

In a few days I left for Duke Medical Center. My anxieties about the surgery remained, but I was peaceful and resigned to the will of God.

After an extensive examination the doctor came into my room and told me, “Mr. Stadler, we don’t understand what has happened. There is no tumor, it has disappeared!” But I did understand. For whatever reason, I had been healed! God had performed another miracle in my life, and He had used my sickness to awaken me.

Even after this wonderful experience I was torn. I sincerely wanted Christ to be the dominant force in my life, but at the same time I wanted to continue with Blackfoot. I loved playing the music and performing, or so I thought. I began to like it less and less.

I felt like a fish out of water. I went through the motions. But I was deeply concerned about the young people in the audience. I felt like the pied piper leading them all into the river. “This is not really me! It’s all a show!” I wanted to scream. “And this is not the way to live!” Playing rock music had been my only happiness. Now it was my greatest anguish.

For four weeks I wrestled with indecision. I carried my Bible on the road and read it at every spare moment. While the other band members continued to smoke and drink, I stayed alone and absorbed whole chapters of God’s Word. It became increasingly clear to me that I had to make a clean break from my old lifestyle.

I left the group and joined a contemporary Christian singing group, The Sammy Hall Singers. Through this ministry I shared my story with thousands of young people. While singing and sharing at Tyler Street UMC in Dallas, Texas, I met my wife, Shana Morell.

I eventually left the singing group and returned to Elon College. There I received a BA in religion. Later I felt a nudging toward the ordained ministry, so I went on to receive my Master of Divinity degree from Duke Divinity School.

Some time afterward I journeyed to Greensboro, North Carolina, to share my message of Christ with the members and entourage of Blackfoot and to see the band in concert. It was an awkward moment, to watch as my friends came on stage. The fans were in a frenzied state.

I raced out of the concert hall after the first song with tears of sorrow and of joy. I was so thankful that God had worked in my life, but my heart was saddened for my old colleagues. What were they doing to themselves? What were they doing to the crowd? Oh, that they might know Jesus and how he can make a difference! That was and is my prayer.

Today I serve as a pastor of Christ United Methodist Church in Drexel, North Carolina. As I share my testimony with young people and parents I tell them that the glamour in the rock and roll scene is only a facade. Rock and roll creates a spirit of rebellion against God. “If it feels good, do it”—that is its message. I encourage parents to be aware of what is happening in the lives of their young people and to stand firm on what is brought into the home.

My ministry continues. As a pastor I seldom play my bass. But when I do, my music is a joyful noise to my Lord. And my bass … well, it’s like an old friend.