Sister Margaret, John Keats, and the Unheard Melody

Straining to hear it

Photo by Anastasia Zhenina on Unsplash

Dear reader,

Before I begin, I want to acknowledge those who pay the monthly or annual fee to read everything here. In a world where there’s so much good content you could subscribe to and pay for… much of it of a quality that far exceeds my own, I’m extremely grateful that you’ve chosen what I write. For me, while this is partly about the love of writing and exploring topics that grab my attention, it’s more about building a viable income to replace my part-time local church income that will come to an end in the middle of this year. That’s why most of my stuff sits behind the paywall.

I appreciate you free subscribers as well. What you receive is sparse, so the fact that you stick around for the small amount of content I put out there for free, is also appreciated.

Thank you!

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My wife recently read me a quote from the fictional novel she was ensconced in - Small Miracles by Anne Booth. She knew I would like it, and she wasn’t wrong. I haven’t read the novel, but let me set the scene for the bit of magic she read to me. There’s something here worthy of our contemplation.

Sister Margaret is a nun visiting Rome. Her convent really needs repairs but with only 3 nuns left in it, no savings, and no new recruits, the prospects are bleak. One of the nuns decides to play the lottery and the story unfolds from there.

When my wife introduced me to Sister Margaret, this wonderful nun was in Rome and about to leave. As a last visit to something in the city, she decided it wasn’t go to be the majestic St Peter’s Basilica. The basilica with its timeless and priceless art hadn’t moved her. Instead, she had been moved and captivated by the small and sparse room where the Romantic poet, John Keats, had died at the age of 25. It’s in the Keats-Shelley House in Rome.

The small moment that unfolds is full of emotion, vulnerability, and profundity.