In 1941 she became a member of the Catholic Action movement – despite her parents’ opposition to it – and she dedicated herself to the movement and the care of the poor and the suffering, while also serving as a catechist for children. It was during her time with Catholic Action that she met and fell in love with the medical student Saua Angel and she began to wonder if God wanted her to marry, like the parents of Thérèse of Lisieux, who made vows to remain chaste in the married life. She waited for the Lord’s will to manifest itself. In May 1951 Angel told her that he felt called to the priesthood. She decided to offer whatever assistance he needed, and helped him to hide his plans from his father, who was a Muslim.

  In April 1952 she bade farewell to Angel, who departed for Madrid for further studies and to continue to discern his vocation. In November he took the decision to study for the priesthood, and this prompted Maria to discern her own call to the religious life. Her parents were strongly opposed, but she entered the Discalced Carmelite Order on 2 February 1955 and received the habit six months later. She took her initial vows on 15 August 1956 along with her new religious name. During her life as a religious she wrote around 48 letters to Angel, now Father Angel.

  On 7 January 1959 she became ill with infectious hepatitis and was forced to move into a sanatorium to recover. On 28 April 1959, as she was dying, propped on cushions and surrounded by her siblings and parents, she sat up and spoke her final words at 4:10 am: “Jesus, I love you! What a sweet encounter! O Virgin Mary!” She had asked the prioress to read a poem of Teresa of Ávila before she died.

  She was beatified on 23 June 2018.

  The late 14th and early 15th centuries saw a miraculous outpouring of mysticism and spirituality all over western Europe, encompassing The Cloud of Unknowing, Walter Hilton, Julian of Norwich, and even the maddening Margery Kempe. Much of it was lay, and even Thomas à Kempis, who became a priest, belongs not to any of the great monastic or preaching orders but to the Brethren of the Common Life, a movement which started in the Netherlands and Rhineland in the late fourteenth century. The birth of the movement was the teaching of Gerhard Groote, who preached and taught a simple prayerful way of life which people could follow in their own homes. Groote shared most of his own large house in Deventer, in the Netherlands, with a group of devout women who lived together as a community (without taking formal vows), and Florentius Radwijns, one of the cathedral clergy and a follower of Groote’s, then hosted a similar community of men. The Brethren of the Common Life aimed to live a communal life in imitation of the simplicity and poverty of the earliest Christians, devoting themselves both to contemplation and to active works. In the time of relative ecclesial peace which preceded the Reformation the Brethren were allowed to grow and develop largely without too much interference. In due course a progression was also established whereby those Brethren who desired a more formal commitment founded, or joined, houses of regular Augustinian canons or canonesses.

  Thomas à Kempis himself was born in Kempen, a small town not far from Cologne. He went to a school founded by Gerhard Groote, and in 1399 became a member of the recently founded Augustinian house of which John, his elder brother, was the first prior. He remained a member of this community for the rest of his life.

  It was a custom of the Brethren to make collections of sayings on spiritual topics, and Thomas followed this practice from his schooldays onwards. Thus some of the Second Readings from the Imitation that we use in the liturgy read almost like a sequence of “bullet points”. In a sense this is the best use of the Imitation – as a bedside book to be read one chapter out of each night, as Monsignor Ronald Knox did in his later years. Thomas à Kempis manages, in each short chapter, to propound a theme or even sketch a situation, and to bring out of it a moral or a conclusion, food for the spirit. Knox tells us that in the days when English Protestants treated The Pilgrim’s Progress as a sort of extra book of the New Testament, The Imitation of Christ was practically the Catholic equivalent. But that does not make it a warm bath to sink oneself into. As Knox puts it:

  “The whole work… is a sustained irritant which preserves us… from sinking back into relaxation: from self-conceit, self-pity, self-love. It offers consolation here and there, but always at the price of fresh exertion… Heaven help us if we find easy reading in The Imitation of Christ.”