Why Am I Crying?

We were singing a hymn. That’s all. We were singing a hymn when my eyes welled up and mascara tears that could rival Tammy Faye Baker’s streamed down my face. I thought to myself, “Why am I crying?”

Okay. I’ll admit that I was a little drowsy from a restless night with my grandchildren and due to “springing forward” to Daylight Savings Time. But I had gone without sleep many times in my many years without bursting into uncontrollable sobs. So why was I crying?

And who wouldn’t be moved by the beautiful lyrics and melodies of “Amazing Love!” by Charles Wesley and “A Rose in the Valley” by Joseph Martin? One haunting line after another had played in my mind for weeks! But I’d sung a multitude of melodies which had moved me to introspection but rarely to sniffles. So why was I crying?

Of course, being a geography teacher, I was acutely aware of the turmoil and grief that had taken over the lives of men, women, and children in Japan, Egypt, Tunisia, Libya, and Bahrain. They were living nightmares that I could only imagine in my safe haven of Huntington, West Virginia. But I had seen misery and pain before. So why was I crying?

Was I upset by the tanking economy brought on by greed, selfishness, arrogance, and naiveté? It had toppled those at the top of the pyramid and trickled down to those who made a living in serving those at the top. But I hadn’t lost a job, I hadn’t missed a meal, and what I had lost, I didn’t need. So why was I crying?

Finally, as I looked out at the congregation, I knew. I was crying because the hymn and my heart, for the first time in a long time, listened to each other. I don’t know how to explain it other than to say that it came from a primitive instinct rather than a conscious “knowing”. I felt a love for everyone in the congregation, the church building, the spirit of the church, all those who had gone before, and all who would come after. And I felt a deep gratitude to the Father and the Son who had brought me to that place, at that time, with those people.

The hymn we sang was “I Was There to Hear Your Borning Cry”. Even if you don’t know the tune, please read the words. Take your time. Read slowly. Remember your baptism if you can. Remember the patience of your youth leaders and Sunday school teachers. Remember how your parents nagged you to go to church. Remember how your choir directors taught you more than singing the right notes. Remember sitting in true fellowship with your teenage friends in the balcony. Remember standing at the altar with the love of your life. Remember saying goodbye to those who now know what the great surprise really is.

I was there to hear your borning cry,
I'll be there when you are old.
I rejoiced the day you were baptized,
to see your life unfold.
I was there when you were but a child,
with a faith to suit you well;
In a blaze of light you wandered off
to find where demons dwell."

When you heard the wonder of the Word
I was there to cheer you on;
You were raised to praise the living Lord,
to whom you now belong.
If you find someone to share your time
and you join your hearts as one,
I'll be there to make your verses rhyme
from dusk 'till rising sun.

In the middle ages of your life,
not too old, no longer young,
I'll be there to guide you through the night,
complete what I've begun.
When the evening gently closes in,
and you shut your weary eyes,
I'll be there as I have always been
with just one more surprise.

I was there to hear your borning cry,
I'll be there when you are old.
I rejoiced the day you were baptized,
to see your life unfold.

Now remember that your heavenly Father and his Lamb were with you all the time. That’s something to cry about – but only tears of joy! Amen

Becky Warren