Most parents ready themselves for the day when their oldest child leaves home and heads off to college. That’s the way we pictured it. It’s even the way we partially experienced it – but with a twist. That’s when God stepped in and Anette and I found ourselves doing something we would have never dreamed of doing. Most parents stay put while the kids go and find an inexpensive apartment and live with whatever possessions they can haul there in an overstuffed car, or perhaps the back of a van or pick up.
But we found ourselves loading up the back seat and trunk of our Elantra and moving 800 miles due east to the Cleveland area. The boys had occupancy of the house until it sold. We had an apartment with borrowed furniture and the things we hauled across the flat states of Iowa, Illinois, Indiana and finally into Ohio.
I know this seems like a long story and I haven’t even talked about the song: “A House of Prayer.” But this is the backdrop of the song. It was in those days of living with minimal “stuff” that I found myself disoriented. The two of us kept joking with each other about the new adventure we had embarked upon, but the reality was that nothing seemed the same. I, more than Anette, seemed to be suffering from separation anxiety – not from the boys which we both felt, but from my earthly possessions. I missed my bed, my stereo, and I hate to admit this – I even missed my recliner.
It was at this time that I was reading in the Gospel of Matthew about Jesus’ clearing of the temple (21:12-13). As I reflected on the cord he took in his hand, the tables he overturned, and his cry against the money-changers, it hit me in a whole new way.
Suddenly it wasn’t just the courts of Herod’s temple that echoed with the words: “You’ve turned my Father’s house into a den of thieves.” It was my heart that reverberated. My mind ran toward Paul’s description of every Christian being a temple of the Holy Spirit, and our need to see that reality in how we live out these lives we’ve been given.
A picture in my mind was forming of all the “stuff” that was cluttering up my soul. I had a vision of Jesus coming and casting aside my bed and my couch and then moving in closer and peering into the inward “stuff” that I had carried with me into this apartment in Parma. There were fears, doubts, hurts, bitterness, selfish thoughts all stacked up like moving boxes, and I knew that Jesus would need to turn them over if this heart of mine was to be returned to its original purpose – to be a House of Prayer.
As I wrote the words of this song, they were a confession, a cry of repentance before the Lord of the temple, and a pleading to Him to do what He needed to do in my life. And the words kept coming back into mind: “Turn the tables, the tables, the tables, and rescue me. Turn the tables, the tables, the tables and set me free.” In other words, this chorus didn’t go through a lot of rewrites. It was, and is, rather simple I know. Maybe it’s not profound, but is the heart cry of one child of God – maybe even your heart as well.
Production Notes: When I brought the song to Steve, he and I agreed that we needed to keep the music simple and let the words be that heart cry and drive the song. But as we sketched out possible instrumentation, Steve was trying to figure out what to do with a bass line. I will honestly tell you that I don’t know how to play bass, but as we listened to the acoustic guitar and scratch vocal, a bass line came to me (for the first time in my life I might add). I simply recorded it vocally and then Steve took out his bass guitar and further developed it. With Michael Chapman playing the congas, Ken Bressman adding some fine guitar work to it, and Joel Wichman’s harmonies, the song evolved into one of my favorites on the CD, as well as to use in worship.
But we found ourselves loading up the back seat and trunk of our Elantra and moving 800 miles due east to the Cleveland area. The boys had occupancy of the house until it sold. We had an apartment with borrowed furniture and the things we hauled across the flat states of Iowa, Illinois, Indiana and finally into Ohio.
I know this seems like a long story and I haven’t even talked about the song: “A House of Prayer.” But this is the backdrop of the song. It was in those days of living with minimal “stuff” that I found myself disoriented. The two of us kept joking with each other about the new adventure we had embarked upon, but the reality was that nothing seemed the same. I, more than Anette, seemed to be suffering from separation anxiety – not from the boys which we both felt, but from my earthly possessions. I missed my bed, my stereo, and I hate to admit this – I even missed my recliner.
It was at this time that I was reading in the Gospel of Matthew about Jesus’ clearing of the temple (21:12-13). As I reflected on the cord he took in his hand, the tables he overturned, and his cry against the money-changers, it hit me in a whole new way.
Suddenly it wasn’t just the courts of Herod’s temple that echoed with the words: “You’ve turned my Father’s house into a den of thieves.” It was my heart that reverberated. My mind ran toward Paul’s description of every Christian being a temple of the Holy Spirit, and our need to see that reality in how we live out these lives we’ve been given.
A picture in my mind was forming of all the “stuff” that was cluttering up my soul. I had a vision of Jesus coming and casting aside my bed and my couch and then moving in closer and peering into the inward “stuff” that I had carried with me into this apartment in Parma. There were fears, doubts, hurts, bitterness, selfish thoughts all stacked up like moving boxes, and I knew that Jesus would need to turn them over if this heart of mine was to be returned to its original purpose – to be a House of Prayer.
As I wrote the words of this song, they were a confession, a cry of repentance before the Lord of the temple, and a pleading to Him to do what He needed to do in my life. And the words kept coming back into mind: “Turn the tables, the tables, the tables, and rescue me. Turn the tables, the tables, the tables and set me free.” In other words, this chorus didn’t go through a lot of rewrites. It was, and is, rather simple I know. Maybe it’s not profound, but is the heart cry of one child of God – maybe even your heart as well.
Production Notes: When I brought the song to Steve, he and I agreed that we needed to keep the music simple and let the words be that heart cry and drive the song. But as we sketched out possible instrumentation, Steve was trying to figure out what to do with a bass line. I will honestly tell you that I don’t know how to play bass, but as we listened to the acoustic guitar and scratch vocal, a bass line came to me (for the first time in my life I might add). I simply recorded it vocally and then Steve took out his bass guitar and further developed it. With Michael Chapman playing the congas, Ken Bressman adding some fine guitar work to it, and Joel Wichman’s harmonies, the song evolved into one of my favorites on the CD, as well as to use in worship.
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