Joe Leatherman, Anchor’s drummer, is a 7th grader and sometimes sports a Mohawk. This week he also sported something else which drew unfavorable reviews from school administrators. He went to school wearing shorts made entirely of duct tape. They had pockets and everything. Joe’s Dad, Terry, was quite impressed, though he says the house is now littered with scraps of duct tape.

This is a magnet school focused on drawing youngsters interested in the arts. Don’t duct-tape shorts demonstrate a definite sense of artistry? I think so. Joe insists they are comfortable, though I have difficulty imagining that, with the chaffing and general inflexibility, and I didn’t think to inquire about zipper-related accomodations. But much of what youngsters wear (such as jeans magically held in place below butt level) don’t appear to my untrained eye to be particularly comfy.

Anyway, Joe was asked to remove his duct-tape shorts and don the spare shorts he brought for just such an occasion. Which he anticipated, since a friend got the same treatment a day or two previous.

Joe was told that the shorts were a distraction, to which Joe responded in a most reasonable and respectful tone, “Isn’t my Mohawk a distraction?” He was told, “If kids talk about your Mohawk more than they talk about school, then I’ll deal with that.” Or something along that line. The reasoning doesn’t quite track with me, especially when I consider all the other teen-culture fashion accessorizing that could conceivably qualify as distracting–chains and colored hair and prolific piercings, and pants with pockets around shin level.

Joe was telling us about this experience tonight at music practice. I asked Pastor Tim what he would think of someone coming to church wearing shorts made of duct tape. He thought that would be awesome. So maybe Joe will wear them to church Sunday. I, personally, would like to see this example of 21st Century postmodern creative expression. Maybe Joe will sit down on the drum seat and get stuck. Alas, the cost of being an artist.

Ten of us meet every Wednesday night at the church for a prayer time. Been doing it all summer. Two of us are elders, plus our wives. None of the others hold any leadership positions in the church. But they are precious people, regular in coming to pray for the church. God doesn’t view people the same way we do. He doesn’t add up education and talents and IQ and articulateness and the size of your church, and assign worth. His scale is totally different.

Jennifer is a young girl, maybe 18, with a learning disability. Very poor family. She works at Taco Bell. She has difficulty reading. Every Wednesday we discuss prayer needs and praises, and then split up for about ten minutes of individual prayer, with the group scattering around the sanctuary. Afterwards, tonight, I asked each person to mention one matter of prayer that has been on their minds.

“How about it, Jennifer? What’s something that’s been on your mind for prayer?”

A little coaxing was needed. But finally she said very quietly, “The worship team.” And it immediately choked me up. She said that ever since Chris Kuntz, our worship leader, left for a position in another church, she has been praying for the worship team. I type this with water-soaked eyes.

Chris has been gone six weeks, and we’ve struggled to adjust without a strong lead singer. It’s not been easy. We’ve all had to make adjustments, and we acutely feel Chris’s absence. We have definitely needed prayer. But how did Jennifer, who has nothing to do with the worship team, know that?

Prayer often arises out of a personal burden, out of some sense that this particular need requires sustained prayer. When God looked down at the Anchor congregation, wondering whom to give a special burden for the worship team, he passed over the elders. He passed over the board members. He passed over Sunday school teachers. And he went to Jennifer. Meek, timid Jennifer. For six weeks now, Jennifer has been praying for us. And I had no idea.