There was an ice storm howling outside the convent chapel windows while inside heating, electricity and running water were frozen up. Snowbanks were over 6 ft high in this very northern part of New York state, 300 miles from the Big Apple.

Marooned in this tiny convent were two young nuns and their sister superior whom I had decided early on was as crazy as a coot. On this miserable evening, sister superior was in one of her fits. (These fits could last anywhere from a few hours to a week and you never knew what brought them on or why.)

She accused the other nun, Sister J., of something or other and ordered her to get down on her knees and confess. Sister J. obediently got on her knees but sincerely could not recall any wrong-doing during that day.

In a fury, the superior went to the kitchen, returned with a bag of apples and ordered Sister J. to eat six of them "right now. Yes, now!" Still on her knees, Sister J. struggled through three of the Red Mackintosh (or were they Pippin?) before she began to choke.

Fury was building up in the superior and I really thought she would ram the remaining apples down Sister J.'s throat. But no. For her disobedience Sister J. was ordered to spend the entire night, freezing as it was, on her knees in front of the Blessed Sacrament. And believe me, if Jesus wept that night, he had company.

Next morning, it was up to the altar for Holy Communion as though nothing had happened. Another morning she scratched my face so badly I was too upset to go up to communion. Later, she commented on this, which I believe was against Canon Law, as was, I think, physically attacking a sister in Christ.

So much misery and hypocrisy existed in this small, insignificant convent - and I might add, this sister superior was one of the most popular nuns in the parish, loved and admired by priest and people alike.

When she was finally transferred, I took my courage in my hands and went to the mother general of the order with my story. After three years of hell under this woman I felt I owed it to other young and old nuns . . . maybe to save them from the same fate. How naive of me. Mother general was appalled, stunned. So was I, for I subsequently learned that this crazy sister superior was assigned to the same role in a new convent elsewhere in the States, and by the aforementioned mother general.

You are probably thinking that, compared to the horrors of Goldenbridge, Ar tane and others, my experience is just peanuts, and you are right, but the question remains the same. What kind of system is it that allows its members to get away with such crimes? Not only lets them get off but, incredibly, rewards them with continued trust and support.

Their spiritual leader, the Pope, said he was "saddened" over reports of abuses in the Irish Church. Saddened. I believe the Pope, his cardinals and bishops, are more saddened and concerned about what women do with their reproductive systems than they are with the sexual, physical and mental abuse committed by members of their church on little innocent children.

Of course they will strenuously deny this is the case, but any woman in Clondalkin, Cork or Monkstown, knows the difference. As they say they are wise to the church now. The ones who still care about it, that is.

But back to the system. What is wrong with it? Do the ordinary decent nuns and priests of Ireland ever ask themselves the $100 question? How did the bad ones get away with their crimes for such a long time? Is the system rotten and, if so, should it be changed or dissolved?

Are the vows of poverty, chastity and obedience passe? Are the good and decent men and women of the church indifferent, uncaring, lackadaisical, brainwashed or blinded?

Once in the system, does it become inconceivable for them to see evil in their brothers and sisters in Christ? Is this beyond their comprehension? Can they be that naive, or is there another element intrinsic to the system? Is there a clue somewhere which would give us some insight?

My mother general, a truly good woman, was appalled by my account of the behaviour of one of her nuns in authority. Yet what did she do? More or less reward a woman who was probably mentally unbalanced. A crazy woman who, at the very least, should never be in a position of authority.

It didn't then nor does it now, 25 years on, make any sense, but there was something the mother general said which may be some sort of a clue as to why she did what she did. "You know, dear sister, that suffering makes you strong and brings you closer to God," she said to me.

Apparently Mother Teresa of Calcutta, amid all the poverty and suffering of Calcutta, was of the same mind. And obviously the Pope is too, for Mother Teresa is on the list for speedy canonisation.

Is there a contradiction in the notion that suffering brings you closer to God? That misery is good for you, is a good thing? You may not be an admirer of Nietzsche but let me quote him. "There is a great ladder of religious cruelty with many rungs: but three of them are the most important. At one time one sacrificed human beings to one's God. Then, in the moral epoch of mankind, one sacrificed to God the strongest instincts one possessed, one's nature. And finally, did one not have to sacrifice God himself and out of cruelty against oneself worship stone, stupidity, gravity, faith, nothingness?"

Siobhan Purcell, who lives in Dublin, was a nun in the US for 14 years before leaving the religious life. She would like other nuns or former nuns with similar abusive experiences to contact her. They may do so in confidence c/o Rite and Reason, The Irish Times, D'Olier Street, Dublin 2.