The thousands who gathered on Saturday at the Wells Fargo Center in Philadelphia weren’t there for a basketball or hockey game. Instead, the 21,000-seat arena played host to a very different spectacle. The stage was bathed in lights, Christian pop thundered from the speakers and the congregation filed in to hear not just sermons, but also strategies: how to get right with God and get rich doing so.
The billed headliners were five current and former members of the Super Bowl champion Philadelphia Eagles. Head coach Nick Sirianni, star running back Saquon Barkley, second-year cornerback Cooper DeJean, and longtime fan favorites Brandon Graham and Brian Dawkins all appeared on promotional materials for Life Surge, a touring Christian financial seminar that promises attendees a blueprint “to grow and use wealth for Kingdom impact”. Ticket packages offering photo ops with the players sold out in advance.
In the extended afterglow of the Eagles’ Super Bowl beatdown of the Kansas City Chiefs, it was a marketing no-brainer: there may not be five public figures with higher popularity at the moment in Philadelphia, a city where sports have always meant a little too much.
Yet for all the spiritual rhetoric and NFL star power, Life Surge was built on a business model repeatedly criticized in investigative reports by the Guardian, the Philadelphia Inquirer and others as one that uses faith and celebrity as bait for high-cost financial mentorships. The man behind the operation, Joe Johnson, is a self-described “serial entrepreneur” whose past ventures have been subject to lawsuits, tax controversies and accusations of exploiting Christian values for profit.
Johnson has declined requests for interviews but told the Inquirer, which published a detailed investigation into Life Surge last week, that his failures taught him to become a better business leader. Yet critics describe a pattern that goes back years. Johnson was previously an executive at Get Motivated, a now defunct seminar company that sold expensive investing classes wrapped in conservative Christian branding. One former attendee, Amy Wolfe, said Johnson persuaded her to loan him $12m under the guise of mentorship. She says she never got it back. “They’re predators who want to be your mentors,” Wolfe told the Inquirer. “It happened to me.”
The model has hardly changed. Life Surge offers low-cost entry – sometimes as little as $19 – but attendees are soon encouraged to sign up for $97 “starter” seminars, then pitched on advanced training packages that can run as high as $40,000. Credit card applications are often made available on-site and attendees have reported being encouraged to cash out retirement accounts or go into debt. One man, a Christian minister named John Simmons, compared the atmosphere to a timeshare presentation. When he posted a critical YouTube review of his experience, Life Surge sent him cease-and-desist letters and takedown notices. Social media platforms like Reddit are full of horror stories claiming the organization preys on the faith of financially naive Christians.
On Saturday in Philadelphia, across the street from the stadium where the Eagles will raise their second Super Bowl banner in September, the event’s branding emphasized faith, success and patriotism, but carefully avoided any official association with the team or the NFL. Earlier versions of promotional artwork used team-style typography and labelled Sirianni the “Philadelphia Eagles Head Coach”. Those references were scrubbed after questions arose in March. A team spokesperson went on to tell the Inquirer that the Eagles had no affiliation with the event. Still, the message was clear: these were NFL champions backing the product.
When DeJean was asked about the Life Surge event after an Eagles practice session last week, the Super Bowl hero said simply, “They came to my management team.” The other four did not comment. A Life Surge spokesperson confirmed that all five were paid a flat appearance fee but declined to say how much.
This was not a one-off. A 2022 Guardian report from a Life Surge event in Denver painted a strikingly similar picture: a day of worship music, motivational speakers and calls to “surge your wealth” as a Christian duty. “Grow your faith to grow your business,” one session instructed. The former NFL star and evangelical hero Tim Tebow, reality TV star Willie Robertson of Duck Dynasty and other conservative Christian luminaries like Kayleigh McEnany filled out the program, while the crowd dined on Chick-fil-A. At one point, a speaker asked, “Why on earth are we not buying Twitter?” and encouraged the audience to pool their resources to fight “the devil” taking over American culture. Financial success, attendees were told, was not just personal; it was spiritual warfare.
Life Surge’s Philadelphia spectacle also echoed a more recent playbook in Columbus, the college town where the Ohio State Buckeyes football team inspires a religious fervor. There, the organization tapped into local sporting legends with former Buckeyes coach Urban Meyer, broadcaster Kirk Herbstreit and several Ohio State football players. According to the Rooster, attendees paid up to $997 for a ticket, with a chance to win photo ops with the stars. Meanwhile, speakers pitched $97 investment classes on the arena floor and sent card readers through the concession lines. The football figures did not directly endorse the seminars, but their proximity to the brand helped attract and validate the crowd. The same cosmetic firewall between pitchmen and athletes was visible in both cities.
At every stop, Life Surge appears to follow the same formula: emotionally charged Christian messaging, conservative talking points and financial promises, all propped up by local sports heroes. It functions as a touring prosperity gospel roadshow, while denying that’s what it is. Speakers at recent tour stops have included some of the NFL’s most recognizable names, such as Joe Montana and Emmitt Smith, while the Hall of Famer turned broadcaster Michael Strahan is on the slate for next month’s event in Newark, New Jersey.
Beneath the stagecraft and scripture, Johnson’s record tells a different story. His previous companies, including the Welfont Group, a real estate firm that marketed dubious tax shelters, have been sued repeatedly. Public records show at least six cases where courts found that appraisals were inflated to artificially boost deductions, ultimately costing clients millions. Johnson insists he left Welfont before the lawsuits began and says he has no knowledge of pending legal actions. But court documents show the deals in question happened while he was CEO.
In addition to Welfont, Johnson ran a series of Christian-themed nonprofits and investment initiatives that folded amid controversy. One charity, which claimed to offer microloans in developing countries, spent most of its budget on executive salaries and fundraising, according to a Tampa Bay Times investigation. Another declared bankruptcy with $16m in debts.
Despite this trail of ventures, Life Surge has flourished since its 2019 launch in Palmetto, Florida, not as a ministry but as a for-profit limited liability company. It sold more than 100,000 tickets for events in more than two dozen cities last year and boasts a 98% satisfaction rate, according to internal surveys. Its spokespeople point to glowing Google reviews and Trustpilot scores. Yet the pattern of complaints persists, from attendees who felt blindsided by the costs, to critics who say the seminars mask old-fashioned hucksterism in a veneer of righteousness.
For the Eagles’ devoted supporters, many who wore team-branded gear to Saturday’s event, the presence of their heroes on that stage was surely a thrill. For Life Surge, it was a promotional coup. But for those in the audience already struggling financially, the real cost may not be clear until long after the music fades and the arena empties out.
Neither Life Surge nor the Eagles responded to requests for comment from the Guardian for this story.
