Matt Chandler - Invitation and Celebration

Well, good morning! It’s good to see you. We’re just going to walk through that passage together, so if you have your Bibles, either digital or analog, why don’t you go ahead and turn there, and we’ll dive in? I’ve told my daughter since they were little, «Never trust a man who won’t wear pink.» So, there are times when you have to start embodying the law yourself. I’ve just said, «Look, if they’re like that, then they are not the kind of man that can lead you in the way that God wants to lead you.» I’m not trying to shame any brother in here who is anti-pink; I’m just saying your insecurities are flaring. If you’re masculine enough, you can pull off pink, and I see some of you pulling it off beautifully this morning. I even got a thumbs-up from the back!

Now, I want to be quick and simple this morning. If you’re a member here, I’m trying to do that every weekend, so it doesn’t really matter for you. I’m just going to try to be quick and simple. Here’s what I’m trying to do today: I want to show you that the resurrection of Jesus Christ, for us as Christians, is a means of celebration. If you’re not a believer, then it’s an invitation. So, Resurrection Sunday becomes both celebration and invitation at the same time in the same room. If you’ve always struggled with the question of what this is really all about, if you’ve wondered, «Great, a Jewish man 2,000 years ago died on a cross and supposedly resurrected; what good is that for me now? My marriage is in trouble now; my soul’s disheveled right now; my world’s falling apart now. What does that have to do with this?» Well, I’m glad you’re asking that question, because I want to take a swing at it.

About six years ago, I was invited to preach in Clear Creek, Texas, which is just down in the Houston area, about 30 minutes from where I graduated high school, down in Lamar, Texas City, on the other side of the Galveston Bay Bridge. I went down, preached in the morning, and then had about five or six hours before I was preaching again in the evening. I thought I should hop in my car and drive down to my old stomping grounds. We lived in about four or five different houses; my dad has a restless soul, and every year or two he just finds a new house to move us to. I was going to take pictures of those houses and reminisce. You know, that 30-foot tree that you climbed when you were little, which was actually a bush, but you didn’t know that until you went back. That was my plan: to hop in my car, drive down, and take pictures of the homes I grew up in, so when I got home, I could show my kids, «This is where Daddy grew up.»

So, I’m in my car, heading south on 45 from Clear Creek. As I cross the town line in Texas City, there’s a field off to the right. When I was in high school, I sucker-punched a kid named Sean right in the side of his head and beat him up in a way that, wherever he is today, he hates me. I’m not making a joke; this was a deeply shameful moment for me. I humiliated him in front of a group of people, and I felt crushed. Then, as I continued on, trying to remember where all those houses were, I passed Holly’s house, and I thought, «If only I could go back in time, how I would change that.»

On my way to another one of the houses, I encountered Amber’s house, and I thought about some things that happened at a party there that will never be a part of my public-facing testimony. I began to feel nauseous and overwhelmed with regret. I realized that some of the difficulties I face today are tied to the fact that I was a fool back then, leaving me feeling defeated and condemned. As I took pictures of the homes and got back into my car to head towards Clear Creek, what I felt in my soul—more than just thoughts in my mind—were little questions like, «I wonder what Holly would think about you being a pastor.» I wondered if Sean could sit in the crowd tonight; whether or not he’d believe anything you had to say. I felt physically nauseous and spiritually crushed.

As I drove into Clear Creek, I don’t know if you’re picking up on this, but I’m an extrovert—100% extrovert, with no introvert in me. I think it drives my kids crazy. I’m like, «Hey, do you know them?» «Not at all.» «We’re about to!» That’s just how I’m built by God, and I just wanted to go to…