If you grew up in the eighties or nineties, you probably remember the sight of a 300-pound man in a spandex singlet obliterating a stack of concrete blocks with his forehead. It was loud. It was sweaty. It was John Jacobs and the Power Team, and for a solid two decades, they were the biggest thing in the world of "muscular Christianity."
They weren't just athletes. They were an $11 million-a-year evangelistic machine.
Honestly, the whole thing feels like a fever dream now. You’ve got these massive bodybuilders blowing into hot water bottles until they explode, tearing 2,000-page phone books in half, and snapping steel handcuffs like they were made of plastic. All of this was "the bait." That's what Jacobs called it. He knew that if he just stood on a street corner and preached, people would walk right past him. But if he promised to run through a 2x4 wall of fire?
People showed up. In droves.
The Rise of the Muscle Evangelists
John Jacobs started this whole thing in the late seventies because of a simple problem: nobody was coming to his prison ministry. He was a 6-foot-3 powerhouse with a 54-inch chest, but he was just another guy with a Bible until a sheriff supposedly taught him the physics of breaking handcuffs.
Suddenly, he had a hook.
He recruited other "chiseled God-fearing souls"—mostly former NFL players and collegiate athletes—to join him. By the late 1980s, the Power Team was a staple on TBN (Trinity Broadcasting Network). They were the ultimate Christian superstars. They even had their own cartoon show. Chuck Norris was a fan; Nirvana’s Krist Novoselic famously wore their t-shirts.
The strategy was pretty brilliant, if a bit controversial. They’d roll into a town on a Wednesday and spend the week doing assemblies in public schools.
💡 You might also like: AMC Highland 12 Theater Cookeville Tennessee: What Most People Get Wrong
Now, they couldn't talk about Jesus in a public school. That’s the law. So, they’d do the feats of strength and talk about "saying no to drugs" and "staying in school." It was the height of the D.A.R.E. era, and principals loved it. Then, at the end of the assembly, they’d tell the kids to come back to a local church that evening for the real show.
That’s where the "bait" was swapped for the hook.
Why John Jacobs and the Power Team Eventually Splintered
Success like that is hard to maintain. By the year 2000, things started to get messy. John Jacobs and his wife, Ruthanne, filed for divorce. In the world of conservative evangelical ministry, a divorce from the founder is often the "beginning of the end."
It caused a massive rift.
A huge chunk of the team left to start a rival group called Team Impact. They felt the original ministry had lost its way. Then, in 2002, the Power Team filed for bankruptcy. It was a classic case of an organization that grew too big, too fast, without the administrative backbone to support $11 million in annual revenue.
But here is what most people get wrong: the Power Team didn't actually die.
Todd Keene took over the presidency in 2003, and the group continues to tour today as The Power Team 2.0. Meanwhile, Jacobs himself didn't just disappear into the sunset. He launched a new ministry called the Next Generation Power Force.
Even in his late sixties, Jacobs was still out there, though the 275 pounds of muscle eventually began to show the wear and tear of decades of smashing concrete with his body.
The Physical Cost of Faith
You can't do what they did for thirty years without paying for it. We're talking about men who:
- Ran head-first into walls of ice.
- Let people smash bricks on their chests with sledgehammers.
- Bent 5/8-inch steel bars with their teeth.
There’s a reason many of the original members deal with chronic pain today. It was a high-octane, high-impact form of ministry that treated the human body as a disposable tool for the Gospel.
The "Wink and a Nod" Controversy
Critics often pointed out the "deliberately ambiguous" nature of their school assemblies. Was it a trick? Was it "sneaking Jesus" into schools? Jacobs always maintained they weren't trying to trick anybody. They were providing a public service by talking about social responsibility, and if kids chose to come to the church later, that was their business.
It was a legal gray area that worked for a long time.
The Cultural Legacy
You can still see the influence of the Power Team in pop culture. The HBO show The Righteous Gemstones featured a group called the "God Squad" that was a direct, satirical nod to Jacobs’ crew. Even American Dad! did a parody.
They represented a very specific era of American Christianity—one that was aggressive, masculine, and deeply intertwined with the "bigger is better" ethos of the eighties.
While the neon spandex and the mullets have faded, the core idea—using spectacle to grab attention in an increasingly distracted world—is more relevant now than ever. Most modern megachurches use some version of "the bait," whether it's high-end light shows or celebrity guest speakers.
Jacobs just did it with his bare hands.
💡 You might also like: Who Was Actually in the Cast of Dance Fu and Why it Matters
What to Keep in Mind Moving Forward
If you're looking back at the history of John Jacobs and the Power Team, or perhaps looking to book a similar group for a community event, keep these points in mind:
- Check the Affiliation: There are now several "spin-off" groups. Ensure you are looking at the specific organization (Power Team 2.0 vs. Next Generation Power Force) that aligns with your goals.
- Verify Safety Protocols: Modern teams have much stricter safety and insurance requirements than the "wild west" days of the 1980s.
- Understand the Outreach Model: Be clear on whether the event is intended as a secular motivational assembly or a religious crusade, as the "bait and switch" model is much more scrutinized by school boards in 2026 than it was in 1986.
The era of the "Christian Strongman" might feel like a relic, but for those who were in the audience when the concrete shattered, it was something they’ll never forget.