IF THE Catholic Church were a corporate giant like PG&E, its aggressive legal tactics might not seem unusual. But the Church is not a profit-driven corporation; it is a spiritual institution whose mission is to minister to its parishioners. So it doesn’t seem unreasonable to hold the Church to a higher standard. Explains David Clohessy, who heads another Chicago-based support group, the Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests (SNAP), " People have a different set of expectations about the Church. " Clohessy, for instance, might trust a business with his credit-card number — maybe. " But I don’t trust it with my psyche, " he says, " or my soul or my children. I trust the Church because it presents itself as an organization interested in personal salvation and well-being. "

When the Church assumes a hardball attitude, in other words, it’s nothing less than a hypocritical abuse of trust. Every Sunday, after all, a priest will preach from the pulpit about the principles of Catholicism — honesty, compassion, and forgiveness. Yet on Monday, critics charge, this very priest might walk into his lawyer’s office and plot a legal defense that makes a mockery of these principles. Says Carl De Luca, an attorney in Warwick, Rhode Island, who’s been embroiled in an eight-year battle with the Providence diocese over civil suits involving convicted pedophile priest William O’Connell (who died in prison in 1999), " That legal strategy is inconsistent with the tenets of Catholicism. " Unlike business executives, Church leaders have more than a legal responsibility to parishioners, he adds: " They have a moral responsibility. Yet they abdicate that [duty] in these cases. "

Anderson puts it more bluntly: " Church leaders will abandon their own Christian and religious principles when defending themselves. It never ceases to amaze me. It’s like they forget where they come from. "

Francis Fiorenza, a Catholic theologian at Harvard Divinity School, concurs. When asked about the aggressive defenses waged by the Church, Fiorenza, in an e-mailed response, says: " There is obviously a stark inconsistency between professing a passionate and loving concern for the religious, moral, and emotional welfare of the victims, while at the same time using a legal tactic that seems to blame victims themselves for their very victimization. That is religiously and morally inexcusable. "

Even some Catholic priests take issue with the Church’s conduct inside the courtroom. Father Andrew Greeley, a popular novelist and a sociology professor at the University of Chicago, has become one of the few clergy members nationwide to speak out against the way the Church has conducted itself in cases of clergy sexual abuse. When the Phoenix requested an interview with Greeley through his Chicago-based publicist in March, he replied that he has " said all that I need to say about the issue " of child molestation by priests. Ever since the early 1990s, Greeley has openly criticized the Church for adopting what he has called " embarrassing " and " punitive " tactics that undermine its credibility as a spiritual institution.

For Greeley, the question of how the Church should behave in these lawsuits has always seemed simple. During a May 15, 1994, episode of 60 Minutes, which highlighted the Church’s legal wars against some victims, Greeley summed up the sentiment this way: " We should be asking, ‘How would Jesus respond to these people?’ ... Would he try to beat them into the ground? The answer is, ‘Of course not.’ "

IN FACT, it’s likely that Jesus would have some problems with the way Church officials defend themselves. In Massachusetts, one of the more shocking instances dates back to 1994, when Edward Gagne sued the Diocese of Worcester, alleging that he had been raped by the Reverend Brendan O’Donoghue (who had retired by the time the suit was filed). To make matters worse, Gagne’s suit charged that when he confided the abuse to another priest, the Reverend Peter Inzerillo, he wasn’t consoled — but was assaulted again, this time by Inzerillo. His suit, which included the priests and the diocese, was settled in November 1999 — after five years of stonewalling. " The Church said all along, ‘We didn’t know about the abuse,’ " says Stephen Lyons, a Boston attorney who represented Gagne. " Its lawyers made a mockery of the discovery process to cover up the Church’s knowledge. "

Court records of these cases show a clear pattern of hedging. During the deposition of one clergyman who had directed an area treatment center for pedophilic priests in the 1970s and 1980s, the diocese’s attorney, the late James Reardon, worked desperately to suppress damaging evidence. He repeatedly objected to questions from Lyons about the " manner, shape, or ... type of treatment " for pedophilic priests at the now-defunct House of Affirmation — even though the witness, the Reverend Thomas Kane, had been advised by his own attorney to answer nearly all the questions. When Lyons asked Kane if he had any discussions with Worcester bishops about patients who were treated there, Reardon interjected: " Objection.... I think that crosses the line and impinges upon the very strict statute construed in Massachusetts law and I strongly suggest that he has no right to talk about that. "

In the deposition, Kane’s attorney replied: " I’m going to let him answer that in the very general form ... because I don’t believe the statute precludes a general question like this. "

The question was repeated. But before Kane could respond, Reardon declared: " I still object. " At one point, he became so uncomfortable that he actually threatened the priest: " And I’d like to warn the father that he’s treading on very dangerous ground. "

Reardon repeatedly thwarted discovery proceedings — throughout Kane’s two-hour deposition as well as those of other witnesses — until a judge finally ordered the Church to stop stonewalling and abide by the law. In October 1998, Worcester Superior Court judge Thayer Fremont-Smith demanded that the diocese hand over reams of documents it had claimed not to have — despite evidence to the contrary. Fremont-Smith also rebuked Reardon. The judge found that Reardon had raised improper objections and that he had unjustifiably told clients not to answer questions. He had even threatened witnesses. His actions were so extreme that Fremont-Smith banned him from taking any more depositions — an uncommon punitive measure. Attests Lyons, " I’ve practiced law for 20 years. It’s very rare that I encounter this type of behavior on the part of my opponent. "

At times, the Church has been even more audaciously combative. When Joseph Elliott sued the Archdiocese of Portland, Oregon, in December 1999 alleging abuse by his childhood priest, lawyers for the Church attacked. They countersued Elliott — asking the court to throw out his case because the statute of limitations had expired. Church officials sent a process server to deliver Elliott’s summons at the hair salon where he worked — during prime business hours.

" That action, " says Portland attorney David Slader, who represented Elliott, " served only one purpose — to scare off Joe, to coerce him into silence. "

The countersuit turned out to be what Slader calls the dumbest of tactics. Other men stepped forward to accuse the priest named in Elliot’s suit, the Reverend Maurice Grammond. Soon the litigation included 25 alleged victims — the largest case of clergy sex abuse in Oregon. Meanwhile, the Church’s countersuit inspired clergymen to speak out. " Otherwise recalcitrant witnesses were so offended they cooperated, " Slader says. Last October, all 25 suits were settled. Though the archdiocese did not admit fault, it apologized to the victims. The countersuit was dismissed.

To experienced attorneys like Anderson, who helped litigate the Grammond cases, the Portland archdiocese’s attempt to wage legal war against Elliott calls to mind the bruising devices that used to be standard fare. " The Church, " he explains, " never hesitated to attack the victim if [officials] thought it was worth it. " Back in 1989, he represented a Chicago couple who ended up in the cross hairs of that city’s archdiocese. The parents (whose identities remain confidential) alleged that their young son had been molested by the Reverend Robert Lutz while attending first grade at a parochial school in Northbrook, Illinois. Once the parents sued Lutz, Church leaders financed a countersuit alleging slander. They used Rambo-like tactics — private detectives hired by Church lawyers staked out the family’s home, sifted through their trash, and phoned their neighbors seeking incriminating evidence. In this case, the strategy worked. In 1994, after five years of legal wrangling, a jury acquitted Lutz — who then dropped his countersuit.

Before Lutz was exonerated, his cutthroat legal defense was highlighted in a November 24, 1993, article in the Wall Street Journal. Legal reporter Milo Geylen documented six cases — from Poughkeepsie, New York, to Altoona, Pennsylvania — where the Catholic Church had stopped at virtually nothing to fend off damage awards. In Philadelphia in 1989, for instance, Ed Morris filed a lawsuit against the archdiocese, charging eight years of abuse by his childhood priest. Lawyers for the Church went after his elderly parents — blaming them for failing to discover their son’s relationship with an alleged child abuser.

The most egregious example of the Church’s legal aggression involved an Albuquerque, New Mexico, man named Timothy Martinez. In 1991, he and 12 other men sued the Archdiocese of Santa Fe charging that they had been molested as children by convicted pedophile Jason Sigler, who left the priesthood in 1982. Despite the former priest’s criminal conviction, Martinez faced a fierce fight. Detectives combed through his past; they tracked down old roommates and girlfriends. Among their questions: Did Martinez ever engage in homosexual acts? Did he like it?

Months after the Journal article surfaced, 60 Minutes editor Ed Bradley exposed equally merciless defenses by the Catholic Church in both Chicago and Santa Fe. New Mexico had seen an explosion of sexual-abuse cases; hundreds of children in that state had been raped and sodomized by priests being treated for pedophilia at the nearby monastery of the Servants of the Paraclete. (The religious order, based in Jemez Springs, stopped treating pedophiles in 1995 because of the rising number of abuse cases.) As more victims came forward, the Santa Fe archdiocese resorted to dirty tactics to reduce damage awards. But by 1996, the archdiocese had been driven to the brink of bankruptcy after paying out as much as $50 million in settlements for some 200 civil lawsuits.

Today, the Church rarely lashes out at victims in such an overtly confrontational way. Outside of Portland, in fact, attorneys haven’t heard of the Church filing a countersuit in years. " That policy backfired on the Church, " Anderson points out. " It was shameful, and anyone could see that it was. It was not good public relations. "

But if the Church has learned to choose its tactics carefully, it still manages to fight the victims — inside and outside the courtroom. Every time a Church leader denies legal responsibility for the harm caused by abuse, he inflicts further pain. Tom Economus, of Linkup, says that the Church should be helping victims " unconditionally. " That means it should offer them therapy. It should apologize for their suffering. And it should settle any negligence claims instantly. " Instead, " he says, " the Church does everything to hurt the victims. It re-victimizes them by putting them through the legal process and dragging out these cases. "