Randy Heacock

by Randy Heacock

I recently began physical therapy to improve my balance.  For the past several years, so-called friends and family have suggested that my walk does not look natural.  Though I do not feel any pain when I walk, some have remarked that it is painful to watch.  On my initial visit, my therapist said my gate is “different”.  Slowly, over 62 years, my adjusting for pain has caused me to walk in a less-than-healthy way.   

I have been wondering if my prayer is also lacking balance. Like walking, has my prayer life been adjusted by and directed by pain? A bulk of our prayers seems to be need-driven.   If a loved one experiences suffering, we ask God to give healing. If we are facing a challenging circumstance, we ask for wisdom or strength. The many prayer requests that fill our bulletins seem to be driven by need.  

As an example, southeastern PA has not had much significant rainfall in the past few weeks, causing very dry conditions. I would imagine that some of us have prayed for rain. In 2 Chronicles 7, God declares, “At times I might shut up the heavens so that no rain falls … Then if my people who are called by my name will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, I will hear from heaven and will forgive their sins and restore their land” (vss. 13-14, NLT). I cannot recall the last time I heard someone suggest this formula for prayer. I cannot ever remember seeing this type of request on a prayer chain.    

As I continued with physical therapy, I did stretches, a few weights, and eventually some balance exercises.  In the end I went from being able to balance on one leg for 2.5 seconds to consistently more than 30 seconds in six weeks.   

How is your prayer balance? Why settle for anything less than being filled with the fullness of God?   

Randy Heacock

Randy Heacock serves as a Leadership Minister for Mosaic Conference while continuing in his role as pastor of Doylestown Mennonite Church.

by Randy Heacock

Many of our conference churches struggle with declining attendance, which mirrors the national trends: From large to small and among all denominations, churches are shrinking.  I heard recently that 85 percent of American churches are either maintaining or declining; 14 percent are growing due to transfers from other churches; and only one percent are growing due to new people choosing to follow Jesus. While we’ve been losing young people for many years, the pandemic has led to all generations walking out the church doors.

As I sit with church leaders lamenting this trend, the obvious burning question is, “Why are people leaving the church?”  Sadly, I must admit I have no solid answers.  But what I do know is that even I, a pastor of more than 35 years, am tempted to join those walking out the church doors.  It is not because of the people, for church people are some of the best people around.  Neither is it the theology, worship style, newness of building, or lack of programs.  No. For me it is the gap between what we say and what we do that eats away at my soul.

The two aspects of our professed life I find most disjointed are the value of community and meaningful accountability.  From what I observe, we are as individual and independent-minded as those who say, “Live free or die.”  We are good at asking God to do our bidding, but rarely invite God to direct our path. Even more rare are requests for communal discernment regarding a job change, house purchase, or family/relational challenges.   

Regarding accountability, many make vows to give and receive counsel as they join our churches, yet this is distinctly challenging in practice, particularly when long-time members are involved.  One member justified another’s poor behavior this way: “That’s just the way they are—we put up with them. Why can’t you?” 

At the conference level, we see a similar pattern. Congregations pull away from their Mosaic affiliation, without checking in with other congregations who may hold a different perspective.  When I first came to Doylestown Mennonite Church 22 years ago, I quickly discerned the fierce independence of our conference churches. Where I hoped to find cooperative relational patterns, I instead noted competition.  I believe this has improved somewhat over the years.

Mosaic also likes its independence.  As a response to the most recent resolutions passed by Mennonite Church USA, we named our independence by declaring such resolutions nonbinding.  Yet, Mosaic also struggles to practice accountability.  While we claim our Grace and Truth statement as foundational, we struggled recently to find a healthy response when it was violated.  And a few years ago, when an abuse allegation was reported in one of our institutions, we vowed to create a survivor-friendly process.  I wonder how survivors would grade us on our efforts on this matter. 

For me these gaps are increasingly painful.  Yet, I remain committed to the church.  The flickering flame of hope rests in Solomon’s prayer recorded at the temple dedication: “If my people who belong to me will humbly pray, seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, forgive their sin, and heal their land” (2 Chronicles 7:14). No matter what our perspectives on the cause or size of “the gap,” it is my hope that we can agree that God always gives healing and transformation when God’s people humble themselves as Solomon described.    

May we seek God’s perspective on our independent nature as we consider the gap between what we say and what we do.

Randy Heacock

Randy Heacock serves as a Leadership Minister for Mosaic Conference while continuing in his role as pastor of Doylestown Mennonite Church.

I recently enjoyed my annual trip to our family hunting cabin in pursuit of the elusive white tail buck. While I had a wonderful time, the word elusive accurately describes my three days spent in the woods of Columbia County, PA.

This year my brother-in-law distributed t-shirts bearing the proud name of Camp YO-HO. The back of the shirt appropriately declares, “What happens at the cabin, stays at the cabin.” I sense some of this is to initiate newcomers with the most important rule of Camp YO-HO.

I am sure many have heard similar comments during family trips or gatherings of friends. While this humorous saying is usually harmless, I am often intrigued by the secret-keeping that is common within our families and faith communities. For example, while at the cabin, my gift-giving brother-in-law shared that the football team, coached by his son, is under investigation for using racial slurs towards an opponent. I was surprised to learn he only knows about this because his daughter-in-law, not his son, informed him. We were asked not to tell other members of the family.

I immediately went online and found no less than four stories of the alleged accusations. It seems so odd to treat a public story with such secrecy. Yet I bump into this approach on a regular basis in our faith communities too.

Though rarely identified, I have discovered a slew of reasons why secrets are encouraged. Image is a big factor. We often fear what others will think if less than positive realities are named publicly. We do not want a loved one or respected friend to be seen in a negative light.

At times, our fear of conflict also keeps our lips sealed. More difficult decisions will need to be made if known struggles are stated clearly. Public acknowledgement can raise tension or even harm an institution or business. Hence, it may be easier to keep silent than to name known abuses. Such abuses can take the form towards children, money, power, corruption, or manipulation. Most notably this has happened in the Catholic Church, Penn State, and the USA Gymnastic program. We must also admit that it happens within Mosaic Conference, our churches, institutions, and individual families.

The interesting thing is that we often keep secrets to keep unity and peace. However, secrets do not deliver either. The writer of I John declares, “If we walk in the light, as God is in the light, we have fellowship with one another” (I John 1:7a, NIV). To walk in the light is to expose or be transparent. When we learn to live exposed, transparent lives, then, and only then, will we experience genuine relationships as God intended.

When and for what are you most tempted to keep secrets? May we pray for God’s wisdom to help us live in God’s exposed light. May we have the courage to build families and create communities of faith that graciously expose all to God’s light. Just maybe, we will begin to experience relationships as God intends!

Like many children of my era, I not only shared a bedroom with my older brother, but we slept in the same bed.  The promised bunk beds, similar to the promise of chunky peanut butter, never materialized.  In our bed, there was a clear, imaginary line down the middle which, if crossed, was fair game for a brotherly punch.    

One particular night, we were doing a bit more than our usual messing around. I do not recall the exact details, but there was a loud snap that echoed through our room. We had broken the bed slat at the top of the bed. Living in a small ranch home, we were pretty sure Dad heard the commotion and would soon be appearing in our room.   

So, we did what many young men would do … as dad opened the door, our angelic faces rested on our pillows as if we had been sleeping for some time. Dad calmly asked if everything was ok and we quietly said yes. Dad closed the door.  

After Dad left, we quickly realized sleep was not going to happen. The problem was our bed was tilted with our heads low and our feet high.  As the younger brother, I was instructed to go tell Dad we needed some help. A few bricks solved our problem until the broken slat could be replaced.    

This is just one of many experiences in which my Dad’s calm demeanor, in the face of my foolishness, has shaped me. Fortunately, as a result, I find it easy to ask for help.  I treasure this as a true gift because I hear from many how hard it is to ask for help, admit need, or worse yet, name personal failure.  

Sometimes shame arises from the inability to admit our needs, desires, or failures. I have heard stories while serving at Doylestown Mennonite Church of the creativity, energy, and anxiety people expended to hide their family television from the bishop at one point in their lives.  A friend recently told me of a grandparent’s wedding ring that has been hidden in the family since 1922.    

I wonder how these experiences have shaped us to keep secrets and to bury our shame. There are layers of shame – as individuals, families, faith communities, and in our institutions. Our larger societal emphasis on public image only adds to this struggle. Often help is within reach, but we remain silent and even proclaim everything is just fine. Ironically, often our struggle is obvious to others … just like my dad knew we needed help with our bed but didn’t offer to help until we asked for it. 

I am reminded of the hymn, “The Love of God.”  One way to experience the great love described in the hymn is to name one’s needs before God. Sometimes we need to risk our fear of shame when we insist all is fine, while actually trying to sleep uphill on a broken bed. What transformations might happen in our lives, families, churches, and institutions if we begin to trust God with our needs, weaknesses, and failures? 

As you rest your head tonight on your pillow, when God asks is everything okay, how will you respond?   

Besides being one of my favorite movies, White Man Can’t Jump accurately describes my reality.  Throughout my life, I have known what it is to be leaping-impaired. When I see people who can leap, hang, and glide, as if floating in air, I certainly know their reality is far different than my own. 

In a similar way, I have learned that others who do not share my skin color often experience a different reality than me in school, work, faith community, and the world at large.  

In his book, Might from the Margins, Rev. Dr. Dennis Edwards invites people of all races to embrace the gospel’s power to transform humanity.  From the very first page, Edwards shares openly about his experience of being marginalized and treated unjustly, yet prophetically proclaims that God’s power is made known out of such experiences.   

In some ways, Jesus began his life as a marginalized person born to unimpressive parents, who identified with people under the yoke of Roman oppression, hung out and ate with social outcasts, and died at the hands of the keepers of societal status quo.  Yet the movement Jesus began, with marginalized people and a unique understanding of power, transformed an empire.  

Edwards rightly calls all people to live this robust Gospel as a way to both experience and share the salvation given in Jesus.  There is no need to wait for permission or support.  Jesus has already commanded and empowered his followers to hunger and thirst for righteousness.  

Edwards’ chapter on the power of anger was especially insightful. I was raised in what I would consider a rather typical white evangelical home. While I am forever grateful for this upbringing, I learned a strong bias against the idea of anger having any redeemable qualities. Christians should control their emotions at all times. Doubt, fear, and especially anger were tools of the devil. People who expressed anger in any way were discounted as being less-than-Christian and certainly not worthy of us listening to their concerns.  

When it came to questions of justice, I found it easy, due to my training, to dismiss people whose tone had any sense of anger. It took years of unlearning and gaining a realistic understanding of Jesus’ own anger before I could see how anger can fuel an appropriate Christian response.  The apostle Paul certainly teaches and models this very approach.  

Although each chapter in Edwards’ book is worthwhile, the chapter on the power of worship is especially valuable. Edwards articulates a needed correction to the goal and purpose of worship.  He proclaims that worship is a way of life, not an event.  Based on Romans 12, Edwards declares, “Worship is about following Jesus in order to understand and practice love for God and love for other people” (p. 133).  It is only when we see worship as a way of life, and not an event, that we begin to allow the Gospel to penetrate our entire being.  

Might from the Margins is an invitation to discipleship. With a strong biblical foundation and a breadth of personal wisdom, Dr. Edwards shares his pastoral heart for all people to more closely follow Jesus Christ. With rich historical context and examples from lesser-known writers, this book exposed this limited white man to many more things than just my poor leaping ability … all while extending an invitation to a fuller, more hopeful future. For this, I am incredibly grateful.   

Editor’s Note: There is a study guide, published by Herald Press, that accompanies Might from the Margins, available for free.