Onstage, the Power Team stacked wood, concrete, and blocks of ice. They smashed them apart, one-by-one, with their heads and fists. They mopped their sweaty brows and told us, promised us, that this was possible because Jesus made it so, because Jesus provided strength, because Jesus found purpose for every child of God.
At fourteen years old, in a mega-church in Edina, Minnesota, I was Saved by the Power Team.
Greg Evenson – who was always inviting us to his church - handed me the flyer. On it, several beefed up dudes in patriotic jumpsuits flexed for the camera. My church always felt like the waiting room in a dentist’s office. Greg’s flyer seemed to be saying, “If God is anywhere, it’s right here, buddy.”
Maybe I went because I loved professional wrestlers and superheroes. Maybe I went because my parents were divorced and my father was just a voice on the other end of the phone. Maybe I wanted a role model. Or at least some easy answers on how to live a happier life. For all, or one, or none of those reasons, I decided to visit Greg’s mega-church.
My heart was pounding. The stage lights, a dizzying array of reds and blues, spun around the auditorium. “LOOK OUT, DEVIL,” a God-like voice boomed. “’CAUSE HERE COMES THE POWWWERRR TEAMMM!” We cheered as strongmen exploded from behind a curtain. A few of them posed next to a boy in a wheelchair.
Onstage, the Power Team stacked wood, concrete, and blocks of ice. They smashed them apart, one-by-one, with their heads and fists. They mopped their sweaty brows and told us, promised us, that this was possible because Jesus made it so, because Jesus provided strength, because Jesus found purpose for every child of God.
The Power Team broke shit through the power of Christ. They were ex-soldiers, born-again wrestlers, and body builders. Every last one of them had kicked cocaine or painkillers. They had all loved a good drink. They talked about how tough their lives had been before they found God. Then, they broke six concrete blocks with their fists.
I was sold from the beginning. They encapsulated everything I loved: God, action movies, and superheroes. They traveled the country saving average citizens. I wanted to run off with the Power Team. I wanted to muscle-up so I could save kids just like me.
“I can feel the power of Christ radiating off all of you,” one Power Teamer said. “I can feel you pumping us up, getting us jacked for Jesus!”
He fist-pumped the air. We screamed with delight.
“I know that some of you are feeling the power of God with me, but it’s your first time and you might not know what to do. Well, we want you to come down here, on stage, and get Saved!”
When I ran down from my seat, the Power Teamer pulled me onstage. With the magnitude praying over us, the Saved, I felt as high as I had ever been in my life. I was special. No longer would I be bullied by assholes. I had Christ on my side.
In the church basement, we held hands and prayed. We filled out forms and information cards. By then, the luster was already fading.
At home, in my bedroom, I prayed for strength. Without the crowd, without the Power Team by my side, I felt alone. I reached out to God but, unfortunately, He didn’t answer.
The next day, Greg asked me what I thought of the show. “It sucked,” I said.
Eric Wiltbank currently resides in Chicago, where he attends school at Columbia College Chicago and eats way too many hot dogs. He writes for a couple things and hopes one day to write for more and more things and hopes that someday one of those things will give him money to write stuff for their thing. Eric just wants you to hold him and tell him that everything will be all right. Thanks!
