Ministers of muscle - Christian athletes

As policemen firmly secure the wrists of the muscular blondhaired man, the crowd in the tent at Landmark Church grows noticeably quiet . Thirty-four-year-old d Keenan Smith readies for yet another feat of strength. Using only brawn and will power, he will attempt to break free from two pairs of steel handcuffs.

The stocky evangelist, clad in redand-black warmups with "Power" emblazoned across the back, begins twisting his arms and upper body. He grunts as he applies force against the links of steel. His face turns deep red. Finally he stops and glances at his colleague with a look of resignation.

"Come on, Keenan! You can do it!" the other strong man urges. Like a fighter answering the bell, Smith attacks the cuffs again, rising to his toes. This time the quiet is pierced by a loud crack as the links of steel give way, followed by thunderous applause and shouts, as grinning teammates rush over to embrace him.

It's all in a day's work for the Power Team, a Dallas-based ministry that is packing churches and school auditoriums around the country.

Using muscle power and blaring Christian rap, these modern-day Samsons from the John Jacobs Evangelistic Association reach out to young audiences to deliver their message: Say "no" to drugs, suicide, and teen sex, and say "yes" to academic excellence, clean living, and to God.

The Power Team bills itself as "the world's greatest exhibition of power, strength, speed, inspiration, and motivation." Its members reach millions through personal appearances and "Power Connection," their weekly TV program that airs in ten countries.

The Power Team's "hook" is simple: when people see a man rip three license plates or a four-inchthick phone book in half with his bare hands, break through several feet of granite or ice blocks with his head, or press a 300-plus pound log--in flames at both ends--over his head, they want to hear what he has to say.

Smith, who can tear two decks of cards in half with his bare hands, says it's only the fourth time he's broken two pairs of handcuffs. But, he says, "I don't worry much about failing anymore. You don't win every night; you don't win every game."

"We're not here to try to impress you with how many muscles we have," the 36-year-old Jacobs tells the Georgia crowd. "All that matters to us is the message. When the show is over, you're the same. But when God touches your life, you'll never be the same."

Jacobs, who stands 6'4" and weighs above 300 pounds, founded the ministry in 1980 while attending Bible school. When he conducted evangelistic meetings at a prison, the warden suggested he perform some feats to draw a crowd. The results were immediate -- attendance soared from 15 prisoners to 700.

"I continued to use [feats of strength] for God, and God blessed [them]," Jacobs says.

The scripture verse that has guided his life, he says, is Matthew 6:33: "But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and all these things will be added unto you."

Nevertheless, Jacobs describes himself as a shy person who never made plans for a grand ministry. Almost every day, he says, he phones his own pastor, no matter where he happens to be preaching.

The first night of the Georgia crusade produced a story common to Power Team meetings. An offering envelope resumed with a note that read, I was thinking about committing suicide, but because of the Power Team, and what I heard, you changed my mind."

Power Team ministers appear at hundreds of schools each year sharing a secular message of academic excellence and denouncing drugs, teen sex, and bad friends who are "dream breakers." Often they hear heart-rending stories: the girl whose sister was killed for her shoes, the three girls who came home to find their father hanging himself, the high-school student who became pregnant by her brother. But many of these tragic stories have endings of hope. One girl whose boyfriend encouraged her to have an abortion decided to keep her baby and give up the boyfriend. At another school a student drug dealer vowed to change his ways after a Power Team meeting.

At Chamblee High School in Atlanta, a National Blue Ribbon School of Excellence with one of the nation's top academic rankings, students were captivated as Keenan Smith and Andrew Mincey broke baseball bats, squeezed cans of soft drink until they exploded, and inflated hot-water bottles until they burst.

"A girl deserves more respect than the back seat of a car," Smith told students, adding, "true love waits." He then shifted gears and told about going to the funeral of his cousin and her mother, who were both killed by a drunk driver.

"I stood at those twin caskets, and not one [beer company] representative showed up to say, `It wasn't supposed to go down this way,'" he said.

Dr. Martha Reichrath, principal at Chamblee, called the assembly "absolutely outstanding." The next day in the hall, she met with a student who had been struggling with drugs and alcohol and asked him what he'd learned.