You're a young woman. Your grandfather was a Jew, but you're a good Christian. Your mother died, so you move to a monastery.
There are no men around. You spend your time doing your makeup, reading romance novels, needle-pointing... whatever it is that young women did at the time.
You have night visions. The same ones, time and again. These are angels, you tell yourself.
These angels take fiery spears of gold and thrust them into you. They pull them out and leave you on fire. Your words, not ours.
You feel pain, but the pain is sweet. You moan. A lot. You feel ecstatic. So ecstatic that you can't wait for their return.
These are not just angels, you tell yourself. This is Jesus Christ himself, in bodily form.
You are made a saint for your suffering in the name of Jesus. "The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa", they call it.
We bet your nightly visitor never got close to sanctification...