Yesterday, I went to church to serve as the reader for Morning Prayer and found myself in “a right state.” In other words, I was a mess.
On the way to church I read an email from a friend of mine who told me that she had reunited with a long-lost brother and I was so happy for her that I got teary.
Once at church one of my fellow parishioners told me that he had been on a deathwatch all week for a dear friend of his and how sad that had been for him. His eyes filled with tears and so did mine.
At the chapel where I was to lead Morning Prayer, one of our homeless parishioners who attends our “Breakfast Club” told me that another homeless man, Wayne, had finally left LA and gone back home to Wisconsin where his family is. I was deeply touched by this since Wayne has been telling me for the past 5 years that he was planning on “going home.” His friend said that Wayne was happy and had the support of his family there. In other words, there is now one less homeless person on the streets of LA. I found myself bursting into tears seconds before it was time to read Morning Prayer. Oh, dear Lord…
Then, while reading a piece of scripture that said, “Purge out therefore the old leaven, that ye may be a new lump, as ye are unleavened. For even Christ our passover is sacrificed for us…” I went into a full boo-hoo standing in front of a group of parishioners. Our priest, Ian, God bless him, came up and gave me a hug and offered to take over. I said, “No, it’s okay. I can do this.” And I did. I dabbed my eyes with some tissue offered by the deacon and off I went with the rest of Morning Prayer.
Why was I crying? The idea of presenting oneself to God as a formless lump provided a powerful image for me of the concept of “letting go and letting God.” This is something I struggle with so it was touching to hear a reference to something I need to remember.
I also served as the acolyte at the 8 o’clock Mass. By this time, I had gotten myself back together and was just fine. I was proceeding through the Mass with everyone else until we got to the part where we pray for those who have died in the past. The very last name on the list was my brother, George Leatherwood, who died in early May, 2004. I wasn’t going to cry; I had no intention of crying, but then I went back into a full boo-hoo. Dear Lord in heaven… Ian came over and again held me for a moment while I got myself together.
Why was I so emotional? I might have just been tired. I have been very busy over the past several months and my fatigue may have caught up with me. That is one possibility. The other is that I missed St. Thomas very much while I was gone and being back among my church family came as a relief. Hence the tears. Of course, I may have just been happy or emotional about not being dead after falling asleep at the wheel on our trip back from Texas…
Ian proposed that I was hormonal. I guess that’s possible, too, though it’s been a while since I’ve had those kinds of issues.
Whatever the case, I appreciated that no one in the congregation seemed bothered in the least by my emotion. They just proceeded with their worship and allowed me the freedom to feel whatever I needed to feel.
Church is, after all, a place where crying is not unusual.
I’m just glad that I’m here and safe and surrounded by such love.
Maybe that’s the simplest explanation for my tears.
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