Church and the emotional Mom

I went to church for the third time since my marriage. Each time has been for a funeral. I have tried very hard to block out the automatic responses to the priest, but sometimes I just blurt them out.
I have also broken two cardinal rules: never go out without a tissue and definitely don't go to a funeral alone. I spent most of the time at the funeral trying not to cry because I would have had to wipe my drippy eyes and runny nose on my coat sleeve and grossed out everyone else who wasn't paying attention.
Curiously, though, if it weren't for all the standing and sitting and blabbing by the priest, the funeral was kind of meditative and relaxing, once I got the weeping under control. In fact, if it were in Latin, I might have enjoyed it better.
Near the end of the funeral, I was relieved that they hadn't sang Amazing Grace because then I definately would have bawled, not just wept. Instead, everyone sang The Star Spangled Banner. It seems, no matter how angry I am at current political policies or particular politicians, my country's song can still bring tears to my eyes.
And that was the end of the meditative moment.