Rob Bell is becoming famous for his soul-stirring sermon from Leviticus 16 on the Day of Atonement, featuring a live goat and a man dressed as the high priest. Rob pastors Mars Hill Bible Church in Grandville, Michigan. His congregation is accustomed to his innovative use of props and stories. In this message, Rob dramatizes Jesus' ministry as the ultimate scapegoat and as our great High Priest who sat down when the work of atonement was done.
I saw the sermon at a preaching conference at Willow Creek Community Church. Rob brought out the priest and goat—both live. When he finished, Rob sent the sin-bearing goat away and declared, "The goat has left the building!" The priest walked slowly to a chair, sat, and the audience erupted into cheers, high-fives, applause, and a little celebratory dancing. I don't usually borrow from other speakers, but on that day I thought, I want to preach that sermon. It would make a great Easter message.
The staff encouraged me to preach it on Easter. Then I asked some of our leaders if I could spend money on a goat. They feigned nonchalance and told me to get whatever I wanted.
Amazingly, several places in the Chicago area advertise animal rentals. I started composing an e-mail. In the subject line I wrote, "Pastor seeking goat." That sounded like a bad personals ad. I tried "Goat wanted," but that, too, seemed open to improper interpretation. I went with "Animal rental inquiry" and sent a detailed request to three places.
I heard back immediately from one, which rented animals for use in movies and commercials. Amanda told me she could arrange a goat and handler for me for $500. I didn't need a goat that could act, I wrote back. A cheaper goat without much talent would be fine. Amanda ignored me.
Bob responded next. His goats were mostly booked for Easter, but he felt he might be able to squeeze me in—for $499.
Lisa replied a day later. No goat, but "we have a desert-painted sheep baby who looks exactly like a goat," she said. $350. She could send me a picture. I wasn't interested in a faux goat, but out of curiosity, I asked Lisa to send the picture. She never did.
In desperation I began to ask everyone around if they knew where I could get a goat. Finally, our youth pastor located a farm that would lend me one for free. I called the lady and identified myself.
"You mean you want a lamb, don't you?" she asked
"No. I would like to borrow one of your goats."
"For Easter Sunday?"
"That's right."
"What are you gonna do with it?"
"Well, I'm not going to sacrifice it, if that's what you're worried about."
"Well, #@*#! &%#$@!! A preacher with a sense of humor! I'll be @*#! %#$@!!"
I took that to mean our transaction was settled and turned to my next prop, a high priest's costume.
Victor's dark domain
As Easter neared, I took Rob's talk and began to make it mine. I did additional research and verified Rob's information. Everything seemed to come together. Still, I was beginning to worry; so much could go wrong.
Sleep was hard to come by that week. On Thursday I got up at 4:00 a.m. and Friday I awoke at 3:00. On Saturday my two daughters and I drove the church van an hour away to the farm to pick up the goat.
Ed, the owner, took me to the goat pen. There were about 50 goats in all colors and sizes.
"Which one ya want?" he asked.
"Um … a male … with horns … medium sized … calm."
Ed startled me by diving into a cluster of goats. When he stood up he had a goat by the back of the neck. The brown and white animal bucked and bleated and was generally unhappy. At this moment I realized I had neglected to bring a rope or a tranquilizer gun.
"Here," he said and thrust the squirming goat into my arms. "Hold his legs and be careful of the horns. He could put your eye out."
My youngest daughter named the goat Victor. Victor squealed like an air raid siren all the way home.
The plan was to let the goat have free reign of our garage for the next 24 hours. I'd spent the previous Saturday clearing it out for the purpose. The goat acknowledged the fine accommodations by immediately depositing a pile of pellets on the floor. This actually brought me a small measure of comfort. I hoped the goat would get it out of his system before the service. I scooped up the pellets and took them out, but I returned to the garage just in time to see Victor empty his bladder onto the floor.
He wasn't finished. Throughout the day Victor busied himself with his three major talents, one of which was bleating. Apparently my role in Victor's abduction had traumatized him. As a result, every time he spotted me, Victor emptied himself. This was not the kind of Pavlovian reaction we hoped for.
My wife and I rushed over to the church to install defensive measures. We laid down a runway of paper to protect the platform. We plotted Victor's entrance and exit cues as if it were a presidential motorcade. I imagined the impact an incontinent, bleating goat would have on Easter morning, just a few hours away.
I feared I had made a terrible mistake. My wife decided to fast.
Victor/Victorious?
At sunrise I opened the garage door. Victor eyed me warily. The floor resembled a topographical map of a Mississippi River delta, and there was no safe place to step. Victor was nestled comfortably on a cushion of manure. This solidified my intention not to serve our guest any breakfast. I chased him around the garage until I caught him, deposited him in the van, and went to clean up.
At church, I parked the van close to an exit door. When Larry, my goat handler, arrived, I explained that Victor was a little wild and his platform time would be limited.
I chose Larry for the part because he is a strong and unflappable outdoorsman who spends several weeks each year hunting. My only concern was that Larry would have the goat roasting over an open fire before I pronounced the benediction. I reminded Larry that "rental" implied returning in good condition.
Since I doubted the goat could stay quiet or clean for long, I decided he needed to remain in the van. My wife would signal Larry when I started preaching. Then Larry would bring Victor through the exit door and wait in the hall by the entrance to the platform. At the right time Larry and Victor would join the high priest and me on the platform.
I told Larry, "The goat will not follow you and he doesn't like to be led, but I need that goat out there. Carry him if you have to. Be careful because he kicks hard. And watch out for the horns, you could lose an eye."
So much could go so wrong
As the service time approached, I realized I'd forgotten all about the high priest. Just as panic was setting in, he turned up and I quickly helped him into his priestly garments, tassels, bells, and sashes.
When it came time for my sermon, I exploded onto the platform. Lack of sleep, anxiety, caffeine, and fervent prayer combined into a passion that Muslim extremists only dream about. Moments later, the high priest heard his cue and joined me.
People ooohed and aaahed at the incredibly detailed costume a talented seamstress in our congregation had made. Meanwhile I glanced furtively at door number two.
The moment of truth finally arrived. After reading Leviticus 16:20-22 I said, "We need a live goat to help us picture this scene."
The door swung open and there was Larry. He gave a gentle tug and Victor popped out onto the paper runway and planted all four hooves. Larry pulled and Victor slid along behind him out to center stage. When Victor saw all the people he said, "Baaaaaaa."
People laughed. I talked louder. Victor said "Baaaaaaa" repeatedly with increased volume. I approached the goat with the red cord, symbolizing the sins of the people. My sudden movement frightened him and he scrambled backward between Larry's legs. Larry was able to thwart the escape attempt. Then it was time for the high priest to lay his hands on the goat's head. Victor didn't like that either. Although he did stop bleating, it was because he focused on bucking furiously for freedom.
"Then the man appointed to the task would lead the goat out into the wilderness," I said quickly.
"Baaaaaaa," said the goat, and balked. Larry slid Victor back out the door. Clearly the goat did not want to leave the building.
The culmination of the sermon was when the high priest sat down. Just as Rob Bell had done, I encouraged people to "celebrate in honor of Jesus, our Great High Priest who is seated now because the work is done."
The congregation watched in silence as the priest moved toward the chair and slowly sat down.
The church erupted in cheers, praises, and shouts of joy. I did a few laps around the auditorium, slapping hands, and jumping exuberantly. People hugged each other, did high fives, and some managed to rejoice quietly on the inside.
Hoarse and happy, I pronounced the benediction, realizing I had to do the whole thing over again in an hour. The second service went even better. And Victor made no unwelcome contributions. People were blessed and challenged. My prayer that the props would not detract from God's glory was answered.
Following worship, my family and I didn't even take time for Easter dinner. Instead, we drove straight to the farm to ensure the goat had truly left the building. Then we cleaned our garage. Our flowers should be well fertilized this year.
I included Rob Bell in the list of people I thanked in the bulletin. His creative sermon really inspired me. In fact, I'm reading Numbers 22 right now, and I have my eye out for an even-tempered donkey.
John Beukema is associate editor of PreachingToday.com and teaching pastor of The Village Church in Western Springs, Illinois.
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