Life Surge Christian Event in Omaha Promotes Faith, Motivation, and Financial Trading Platform

OMAHA, Neb. — On a brisk Saturday, May 3, 2025, some 5,000 attendees filled Baxter Arena here for the Life Surge Christian Event, an eight-hour spectacle that wove together evangelical fervor, motivational rhetoric, and an unabashed pitch for a proprietary day trading platform. The lineup boasted familiar names: Tim Tebow, the former NFL quarterback; Nick Vujicic, a motivational speaker born without limbs; and Willie Robertson, the bearded patriarch of the Duck Dynasty clan. Yet the event’s most consequential moment came during a financial presentation by Steven Champa, a trainer for the Life Surge platform, who promised a path to riches rooted in Christian values.

Mr. Champa promoted a trading platform tailored for believers, asserting it could deliver substantial wealth and empower attendees to make a “Kingdom Impact” through their earnings. The system, he claimed, tracks large buy orders by institutional investors, enabling users to replicate those trades for profit. Traditional financial advisors, he said, were bleeding clients’ money. When he asked how many in the audience had never traded stocks or securities, more than half—over 2,500 people—raised their hands, a testament to the novice crowd.

To drive home the platform’s allure, Mr. Champa invoked Ann Schriber, a trader he said had amassed $22 million in the stock market. “You die with $22 million, people will be at your funeral,” he declared, urging the crowd to follow her lead. He touted high-risk instruments like options and cryptocurrency, even suggesting that pending legislation might render crypto profits tax-free. But industry studies paint a sobering picture: Only 3 to 10 percent of day traders achieve consistent profits, with many incurring steep losses in volatile markets. Access to the platform costs $59 a month, plus a $97 fee for a three-day training course.

As Mr. Champa’s presentation wound down before lunch, event staff fanned out with clipboards, pressing attendees to sign up for the courses on a first-come, first-served basis. Those who acted quickly were promised photo opportunities with the event’s celebrities, a carrot that fueled urgency. Card readers hummed as payments were processed, and new subscribers clutched promotional grab bags. “Don’t overthink this, Omaha,” Mr. Champa called out, his voice rising over the clamor of eager attendees converging on registration tables.

The event’s fusion of spiritual uplift, star power, and bold financial promises struck a chord with many. But the aggressive push to market complex trading strategies to an inexperienced audience carried an undercurrent of exploitation, as enthusiasm seemed to eclipse caution. As the Life Surge event drew to a close, its vision of faith-driven prosperity lingered, leaving attendees to weigh the cost—both spiritual and financial—of the wealth they were sold.