A Sense of Sin

I dreamed I saw St Augustine
Alive with fiery breath.
I dreamed I was among the ones
That put him out to death.
Oh, I awoke in anger, so alone and terrified.
I put my fingers against the glass,
And bowed my head and cried.
-- Bob Dylan, I Dreamed I Saw St Augustine

It is a matter of some embarrassment to me that I am frequently overcome in church when singing hymns (and sometimes, when not in church). I'll choke up and tears come. I'm trying to maintain my composure in the midst of the crowd. I'm especially susceptible to Amazing Grace and What Child Is This.

Today was the traditional post-Christmas Hymn Sing-a-long, during which members of the congregation call out a Christmas hymn and we all sing the first verse. I was hammered by Silent Night today.

I've been known to blub during the 2nd movement of Beethoven's 7th Symphony; and the floodwaters roll during the Ode to Joy in the 9th. Music has that effect on me. It drills like a dentist into my spiritual root.

Church service is the one place where I can feel, for a short while, that I might beat the rap with this "sin thing." It's almost too much to hope for.