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much of the front of the building. Massive birds were on each side of the cross. Their outstretched glass wings were made of blue, red, yellow, lavender, and white opaque panels, and they held olive branches in their powerful beaks. Visual proclamations proudly declaring the edifice to be the home of New Testament Cathedral and presided over by Dr. Hezekiah T. Cleaveland, pastor sat above the stained-glass centerpiece.
    â€œHezekiah Cleaveland is spending forty-five million dollars to build a shrine to himself while homeless people, sick people, and mentally ill people are living and dying on the streets all around him,” the megaphone-toting man below shouted to the crowd. “New Testament Cathedral and Hezekiah Cleaveland should be spending that money to build affordable housing, shelters, and clinics for the poor in this community!”
    The crowd cheered and the grounds of New Testament Cathedral were alive with the sounds of boos, whistles, and clapping hands. Burly men hoisting television cameras on their shoulders captured the scenes for the evening news.
    Hezekiah could see the construction site of the new cathedral directly across the street, on Imperial Highway. Bulldozers kicked up dust as they moved dirt to clear a space for the new parking structure. Men in yellow hard hats and wagging tool belts walked around the site carrying blueprints, lumber, and power tools. Cranes carefully positioned steel beams onto the rising structure. The new site was twice the size of the one the church now occupied. It included a 25,000-seat sanctuary to hold even more generous congregants each Sunday morning, three thirty-two-by-eighteen-foot JumboTron screens, the Hezekiah T. Cleaveland elementary, middle, and high schools, a theological seminary complete with dorms to house future missionaries, a sprawling park with two restaurants, a bookstore and gift shop, and a 5,000-seat amphitheater for outdoor summer concerts. The new campus also included a fitness center and an automotive repair complex.
    Hezekiah spotted the Los Angeles Chronicle reporter Lance Savage talking to a man wrapped in a trench coat that looked like he had slept in it for months.
    â€œMaybe you should go down there and address them,” Naomi said, walking up behind Hezekiah and Kenneth. “Since there are so many reporters, maybe this would be a good opportunity to tell the public how we already help the homeless.”
    Hezekiah’s smile quickly vanished. His shoulders tensed as he stared directly into her eyes.
    â€œAre you crazy? Do you want me to be on the six o’clock news, being yelled at by a bunch of bums?”
    â€œI didn’t mean…”
    â€œThat’s your problem. You don’t seem to know what you mean most of the time.”
    Hezekiah spun on his heels and stormed through the door leading to his private office suite.
    Everyone present pretended not to have heard the lashing Naomi had just received. Nervous hands throughout the office frantically groped for telephones on the first ring; papers were shuffled and feet darted toward the nearest exits when she turned from the window.
    Kenneth looked at Naomi with a sympathetic eye and said, “He’s in one of his moods today. What is going on?”
    â€œHe’s been like this for weeks now and it seems to be getting worse,” replied Naomi as the crimson hue slowly drained from her face.
    Hezekiah retrieved more telephone messages from an assistant positioned outside his office.
    The scheduling secretary greeted Hezekiah as he approached.
    â€œGood morning, Pastor Cleaveland,” she said. “Senator Swanson’s office is on the line. The senator will be in town next week and wants to know if you’re available for lunch.”
    Hezekiah looked unimpressed as he retrieved more telephone messages from her neatly appointed desk. “That’s fine,” he said. “Go ahead and set it up.”
    When he entered his office, the