At the CMA Awards tonight, Carrie Underwood delivered a performance that will linger in memory long after the lights dimmed. Her rendition of Softly and Tenderly wasn’t just singing—it was a confession, a quiet unraveling of every emotion she carried.
The room fell utterly silent. Every note trembled with vulnerability, every pause held the weight of a story unspoken. By the final chord, tears streamed down her cheeks, and the audience rose as one, swept up in a wave of awe and raw humanity.
In that fleeting, impossible moment, Carrie reminded everyone why music has the power to reach places words never could: it touches hearts, opens wounds, and heals them in the same breath. Pure, moving magic.
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A Hymn for the Heartbroken: Carrie Underwood’s Tearful Tribute at the 2017 CMA Awards
In the shadow of unimaginable tragedy, music has an uncanny ability to bridge the chasm between devastation and hope. On November 8, 2017, at the 51st Annual Country Music Association (CMA) Awards held at Nashville’s Bridgestone Arena, Carrie Underwood delivered a performance that transcended the stage, piercing straight to the soul of a nation still reeling. Clad in a flowing white gown that evoked both purity and mourning, the 34-year-old superstar took center stage for the show’s “In Memoriam” segment. Her rendition of the timeless gospel hymn “Softly and Tenderly” wasn’t just a song—it was a collective exhale, a balm for wounds too fresh to fathom. As her voice trembled with raw, unfiltered emotion, the room fell into utter silence, every note landing like a whispered prayer. When the final strains faded, tears streamed down her cheeks, and the crowd surged to their feet in a thunderous ovation that felt more like communal catharsis than applause. In that moment, Underwood didn’t just sing; she summoned magic, pure and moving, reminding us all that even in the darkest hours, grace can still call us home.
Underwood’s path to that pivotal night was paved with triumphs and trials that had long honed her into country music’s resilient powerhouse. Born in 1983 in Muskogee, Oklahoma, she was discovered on Season 4 of American Idol in 2005, where her powerhouse vocals and unshakeable poise catapulted her to victory. At 22, she became the first Idol winner to snag a Grammy, and her debut album Some Hearts (2005) went on to sell over 19 million copies worldwide, spawning hits like “Jesus, Take the Wheel” and “Before He Cheats.” By 2017, Underwood was a seven-time CMA Award winner, a mother to her first son with hockey star husband Mike Fisher, and a symbol of unyielding strength. Yet, behind the spotlight lay personal battles: a miscarriage earlier that year had plunged her into grief, and the recent Route 91 Harvest Festival mass shooting in Las Vegas—where a gunman killed 58 people and injured hundreds more at a country music concert—had shaken the genre to its core. “This has been a year marked by tragedy,” co-host Brad Paisley had said earlier in the show, dedicating the evening to victims of shootings, hurricanes, and wildfires. Underwood, co-hosting for the 10th time that night, embodied that resolve. Her performance was billed as the emotional anchor of the In Memoriam, but no one could have anticipated how profoundly it would resonate.
“Softly and Tenderly,” penned in 1880 by Will L. Thompson, is more than a hymn—it’s a cornerstone of American gospel, often called “the call song” for its gentle invitation to redemption. Lyrics like “Softly and tenderly Jesus is calling / Calling for you and for me / Come home, come home / Ye who are weary, come home” have soothed countless souls at funerals and revivals. Underwood, raised in a devout Christian home where hymns were as familiar as breathing, had grown up singing it in church. But selecting it for the CMAs was no casual choice; it was a deliberate echo of healing in a time of horror. As she stepped forward under a single spotlight, the arena’s usual roar hushed to reverence. A massive screen behind her flickered to life with black-and-white portraits of the departed: country legends like Glen Campbell, whose Alzheimer’s battle had ended in August; Don Williams, the “Gentle Giant” who passed in September; Troy Gentry, half of Montgomery Gentry, killed in a helicopter crash just weeks earlier; and longtime CMA executive Jo Walker-Meador. Each face dissolved into the next, a poignant montage of melodies silenced too soon.
The arrangement was sparse, almost ethereal—a lone piano underscoring Underwood’s crystalline soprano, building subtly with strings that swelled like a sigh. From the opening verse, her voice quivered, not with strain but with sincerity, each phrase laced with the weight of shared sorrow. “Why should we tarry when Jesus is pleading / Pleading for you and for me?” she sang, her eyes fixed on the screen as if communing directly with the lost. The audience—stars like Garth Brooks, Miranda Lambert, and Keith Urban among them—sat transfixed, many dabbing at eyes already brimming. As the tribute shifted to clips of the honorees’ performances from past CMAs, Underwood’s tone deepened, her vibrato catching like a held-back sob. Then came the gut punch: the screen transitioned to photos of the Las Vegas victims, everyday fans gunned down while dancing to Jason Aldean’s set. Faces of young mothers, fathers, festival-goers—58 lives extinguished in minutes—flashed in somber succession. Underwood’s composure cracked; tears welled, spilling over as she reached the chorus: “Come home, come home / Earnestly, tenderly, Jesus is calling.” Her voice, usually a force of nature, softened to a vulnerable plea, the tremble in her chest microphone amplifying the intimacy. The room, packed with 20,000 souls, was utterly still—no cheers, no flashes, just the holy hush of collective heartbreak.
By the bridge—”Oh, for the wonderful love He has promised / Promised for you and for me”—Underwood was openly weeping, her free hand clutching the mic stand as if for anchor. Yet she pressed on, transforming personal and public pain into something transcendent. As the final “Come home” lingered, the piano faded, leaving her voice alone in the vastness. She held the note, eyes closed, tears tracing paths down her face, before the lights dimmed. For a beat, silence reigned. Then, as one, the crowd rose—a standing ovation that built like a wave, roaring with gratitude and grief. Underwood, visibly shaken, managed a watery smile and nod, her white gown now a beacon in the sea of upturned faces. Backstage, peers swarmed her: Reba McEntire enveloped her in a hug, while Paisley, her co-host, whispered words of pride. “Not sure there will ever be a more powerful performance on the #CMAs,” tweeted one viewer that night. “Just felt Jesus in our living room. Amazing job @carrieunderwood.” Her husband, Mike Fisher, posted on Instagram: “Proud doesn’t even begin to describe how I feel about my wife… What a voice, what a heart.”
The ripple effects were immediate and enduring. The performance clip, shared officially by the CMA in 2019 after initial broadcast snippets, amassed millions of views, dominating social media and country radio. It propelled “Softly and Tenderly” into the spotlight, introducing the hymn to younger audiences and sparking a surge in gospel streams. Underwood later reflected on its inclusion in her 2021 album My Savior, her first full foray into faith-based music: “It felt like at the time, that song just brought a lot of healing into the room.” Critics echoed the sentiment; Billboard called it “exquisite,” a moment where “Underwood’s voice became a vessel for collective mourning.” On X, even years later, fans recirculate it as a touchstone: “Carrie Underwood Sang ‘Softly and Tenderly’ Live from the 51st Annual CMA Awards,” posted one user in September 2024, capturing its timeless pull. Another, in January 2025, lamented the scarcity of full videos, underscoring its cherished status: “Tried to find the full version… If X can fix this, it will help.”
For Underwood, the night marked a deepening of her artistry. Amid her own miscarriage grief—revealed publicly the following year—the performance became a personal reckoning, blending her faith with her role as a voice for the voiceless. It paved the way for My Savior, which debuted at No. 1 on the Billboard Christian Albums chart, and reinforced her as country’s moral compass. Tragedies like Las Vegas tested the genre’s fabric, but moments like this wove it tighter. As Paisley had teased pre-show, Underwood would deliver the “show-stopping moment”—and she did, not with fireworks, but with a hymn that called the weary home.
Eight years on, as the 2025 CMAs loom, Underwood’s 2017 triumph endures as a beacon of vulnerability in an often-glossy industry. In that white gown, amid tears and silence, she didn’t just honor the lost; she invited us all to feel the pull of tenderness. “Why should we linger and heed not His mercies?” she sang. In a world still grappling with loss, her answer—and ours—lies in the coming home.
