Pat Barrett - All This In A Name Lyrics
Lyrics
There's healing in the name Freedom in the name Power in the name
I know a name that makes the darkness shake The enemy runs and hides I know a name the wind and waves obey He speaks and they all go quiet
King Jesus, my Savior Your name be lifted high
We sing the name that opens the prison doors We sing the name that everything bows before No other name can save our lives Jesus, be lifted, be lifted high
I know a name that always makes a way Just go ask the Israelites I know a name even the stone obeys He speaks and it rolls aside
King Jesus, my Savior Your name be lifted high
We sing the name that opens the prison doors We sing the name that everything bows before No other name can save our lives Jesus, be lifted high
We sing the name who's worthy of all our praise We sing the name, and it changes everything No other name can save our lives Jesus, be lifted, be lifted high
Hey!
Grave shaker, storm tamer, my Savior All this in a name Heart healer, joy giver, soul winner All this in a name
Grave shaker, storm tamer, my Savior All this in a name Heart healer, joy giver, soul winner All this in a name
All this in Your name
We sing the name that opens the prison doors We sing the name that everything bows before No other name can save our lives Jesus, be lifted high
We sing the name who's worthy of all our praise We sing the name and it changes everything No other name can save our lives Jesus, be lifted, be lifted high
Be lifted, be lifted high Be lifted, be lifted high No other name can save our lives Jesus, be lifted, be lifted high
Video
Pat Barrett - All This In A Name (Official Lyric Video)
Meaning & Inspiration
Pat Barrett’s "Name" arrives with the weight of a traditional hymn dressed in modern urgency, but there is a specific line that stops me cold: "I know a name even the stone obeys."
It is a clever pivot. Most songwriters focus on the "Grave shaker" aspect—the Resurrection, the sudden, violent breaking of the seal. But by choosing to focus on the stone obeying rather than the stone shattering, Barrett forces us to look at the inanimate. A stone has no will. It does not possess a soul or a conscience to convince. It is simply matter, cold and heavy, placed there to ensure that what is dead stays dead. When the lyrics claim the stone obeys, it shifts the focus from a miraculous event to the absolute, crushing authority of the Speaker.
There is a tension here between the literal, physical reality of a tomb entrance and the spiritual authority being asserted. If I am being honest, my own life rarely feels like a scene of supernatural obedience. I have "stones" in my history—habits, failures, stubborn anxieties—that feel like they are bolted to the earth. They don’t move when I ask them to. They don’t even move when I pray about them for the hundredth time.
So, what does it mean to sing that the stone "obeys"?
In Mark 4, when the storm silences at His command, the disciples are terrified because they suddenly realize they are standing in the presence of something that outranks the physical laws of their universe. The stone rolling away isn't just a parlor trick or a singular historical moment; it is a declaration of jurisdiction. The stone obeys because the Creator of the mountain is standing in front of it.
Is it a cliché? On the surface, the "name above all names" trope is well-trodden ground in songwriting. We hear it so often that we start to treat the Name like a talisman, a magic word we drop into a chorus to guarantee a specific reaction from the divine. But then the lyric hits that specific image of the stone, and the cliché cracks. It reminds me that the authority of Jesus isn’t a suggestion; it’s a command that matter itself cannot resist.
It leaves me in a place of uncomfortable inquiry. If the stone obeys Him, why is my own surrender so sluggish? Why does the stone in my life move by inches while the Gospels describe an immediate, total clearing of the path? Maybe the song isn't just about the power of the Name, but about the stubbornness of my own heart—the part of me that is denser than a grave stone, waiting to be commanded into silence.
I don't have a tidy answer for that. But there is something unsettlingly steady about the way Barrett builds this track. It suggests that even when the wind isn’t quieting and the stones aren’t moving in my timeline, the authority remains intact. The stone is still listening, even if I’m not yet seeing the movement.