It was winter break, and Jacob Larson was on the side porch of his parents’ house. He was with his girlfriend, and they were praying together about their future when Larson felt a strong hunch that he was supposed to be having a private conversation with God. He left to take a walk on the cul de sac of Easy Street in Lake Wales, Florida.
He was 22 and the year was 1996 — praying with his girlfriend about the future was romantic. God was interrupting, so when Larson was alone, he yelled out, “What?” Immediately, a memory from years ago came to mind.
Larson was 16 and giving God a multiple-choice test from his bed. He was trying to plan his future and gave God three options: physical therapist, professional photographer and veterinarian. Instead, an image of his youth pastor came to him.
“Oh no, I’m not going into ministry,” Larson said. “Do you not see the posters I have on my wall?”
He looked around at the pictures of luxury Italian cars hung in his room, then took his pillow and wrapped it around his ears and closed his eyes until he fell asleep.
“Oh no,” he said again at 22. “You’re asking if I still want to do that.”
Larson reluctantly agreed to follow the plan God was insisting on, acknowledging that he did not know how to begin.
“If I’m going to do this,” he propositioned, “you have to do all the work.”
The next week, he got a phone call from a church asking him to be a youth leader at their camp. He said yes.
He had a pen pal from middle school who called him to say she thought he should get involved in YoungLife, a national youth ministry organization. He said yes.
He called YoungLife, and they said they wanted to train him immediately. He said yes.
The next year, the area director decided start an internship program and wanted him to be the first intern. He said yes.
Two years passed, and he was on full-time staff. Two more years went by, and he was volunteering at Gainesville Vineyard, the church his best friend, YoungLife team coordinator and future wife, attended. In 2002, he was asked to work full-time at the Vineyard. He said yes.
“The posture I have is to consider that our city has a soul and to love her in a way that encourages the city to be the best version that she can be,” Larson said, describing his role as community pastor.
“How is the city flourishing? Encourage that. How could it flourish? Create that.”
The Bull, the bar Larson owns in downtown Gainesville, is the place where he helps Gainesville flourish.
In 2007, Larson had just returned from a conference in New York that urged community leaders like him to support their city for the common good.
“Look for things that were already doing well and support them,” he learned. “Look for things that are missing and create them. Look at things that are confusing and explain them.”
When a friend told Larson about his idea to start a promotions company, he jumped at the chance to be a part of it.
“My head and heart are so full of ideas,” he said.
Together they founded Society Promotions, a nonprofit that promotes art and cultural experiences that benefit and inspire social change. Larson’s first professional involvement with The Bull was through Society Promotions — when The Bull opened in 2011, they hosted tribute nights where musicians performed and venues donated proceeds to a local cause.
After three years, Larson began meeting with the owner to share business advice. On the third meeting, the owner said, “You’re way more excited about this than I am. Why don’t you consider taking over The Bull?”
Larson deliberated this offer.
“How absurd is that?” he thought. “You can’t pastor a church and run a bar.”
He approached the Vineyard’s senior pastor at the time, who leaned back in his chair and said, “I wonder what God is up to.”
Everyone Larson consulted about the offer said it seemed strange, contradictory and exactly like something would God plan for him. He began working as a manager at the Bull in June 2014.
“It got to the point in my heart where I couldn’t not,” Larson said.
On New Year’s Day 2015, Larson clinked the flute glass full of champagne and said to one of the bartenders, “I guess this is mine now.”
Thus began the most difficult journey of his life. He studied business administration and specialized in religion at the University of Florida, but this was the first time he had truly ever needed to put his knowledge of business to use.
One day, he was complaining in prayer about the struggle to turn a profit when he heard God say, “Take care of the fringe and marginalized in the nations, and I’ll have them take care of you.” He said yes.
Within a week, a homeless man saw Larson working late and brought him a hot meal. Eugene has brought him meals about four times now, taking care of a man so selfless he occasionally forgets to eat.
Although he originally thought that his roles as bar owner and pastor would be inherently contradictory, he said his roles overlap almost entirely.
“Now, I think it’s hand-in-glove,” Larson said. “I think it would have been a sin not to buy the bar.”
If he had said no to The Bull, he would have been saying no to God.
Larson went off paid salary at the Vineyard in June 2017 but is still community pastor. The lead pastor, Mike Raburn, said The Bull facilitates his role at the church, and they consider it an extension of the church’s ministry.
The bar is a way for him to connect with the community in an era where many are reluctant to go to church, Raburn said. At The Bull, Larson makes everyone feel welcome and wanted.
“Whether he’s the host or not, he’s always the host.”
One night, Raburn and Larson were at The Bull together. Within 30 minutes, Larson had introduced him to a city council member, another pastor and Eugene, who brought a sandwich for Larson. They were all chatting together like a group of best friends, but the only thing they had in common was Larson.
“He just brings people together,” Raburn said.
Larson uses The Bull to sow into the community the church’s core values of loving and accepting others unconditionally, he said.
“I wish I had 100 of him. If I did, I could change the world.”
Larson focuses his attention entirely on whomever he is with, but he is impossible not to notice. He always has a hat on his head and a small silver hoop in his left ear. With his biblical beard and handlebar mustache, he looks like he should grace the cover of an indie record, not stand at a pulpit or behind a bar. He talks with his hands as if mapping out stories on the table and runs to open the door when someone’s hands are full. He drinks a beer called “Even More Jesus,” and his resonant voice has a distinct way of saying “welcome.” Despite this, he does not take sole credit for the bar’s success.
“The Bull works because of the community that loves it,” Larson said.
One member of that community is Chris Smith, a regular at the bar. The reason he returns multiple times a week is the people, including Larson, he said.
“He’s easy to describe: extremely kind, giving, not at all selfish,” he said. “He’s always got a smile on his face.”
Just by stepping into The Bull, it becomes obvious that Larson is a simple, family-oriented man.
“What you see is what you get,” Smith said.
Larson said that although this is the most trying journey he has ever taken, he is certain that he is doing God’s work. He plans to continue saying yes to opportunities like these in the future.
“You’re just living in constant humility,” he said. “And when you’re not in the midst of the stress and questioning, like in those moments when you’re celebrating the homeless person feeding you, it is a realization of, like, 'This is the best life.’”