The sprawling Cathedral of the Almudena was begun in the ninth century A.D. Little more than the foundation was completed before work was halted due to the arrival of the Moors. The invaders raised their mighty fortress beside it. When the Moors were driven from Spain and the fortress was dismantled to make way for the Royal Palace, work was also scheduled to resume on the cathedral. However, the powerful and jealous Archbishop of Toledo did not want any church to be more imposing than his own. Individuals who gave money to finish a church on a site made unholy by the Moors faced both excommunication and death. It was nearly seven hundred years before work continued on the church. Even then, money and resources were scarce. Sections were completed and then work was abandoned, resulting in a chaotic variety of styles. Finally, in 1870, the patchwork church was pulled down and a new Neo-Gothic church was planned. Construction began in 1883, though funds ran out with regularity and the effort was finally abandoned in 1940. It wasn't until 1990 that work was undertaken to finish the cathedral in earnest. Yet once again the billions of pesetas needed to execute the job were not forthcoming. Ironically, it was just three weeks ago that the last of the paint was applied to the friezes in the main entablature.

The gears complained loudly as the bus suddenly slowed. They had just turned off Calle Mayor and swung onto Calle de Bailén, where literally thousands of people were gathered outside the twin spires of the church. Beyond them were groups of reporters and TV cameras. The print journalists were on foot and the TV crews were on the backs of parked vans. Though the crowd was being kept away by a phalanx of metropolitan police, the arrival of the bus and the glimpse of the priests seemed to enflame them. The people began crying loudly for help and sanctuary. The heat inside the crowded bus seemed to enhance their voices and carry them to every ear, like a church bell in the still of morning. These were not political refugees but elderly men, mothers with babes, and schoolchildren. They were panicked and their numbers-like their passion-seemed to swell as the bus crept toward the front of the church. The priests regarded one another in silence. They had expected need, but not this kind of desperation.

Linking their arms, a line of police officers was finally able to get between the bus and the crowd. Father Francisco came from the church and used a megaphone to implore the group to be patient. As he did, he motioned for the forty-four priests to come inside. They moved slowly, crowded into a tight, single-file line by the surging mob. They reminded Father Norberto of the hungry masses he had once helped feed in Rwanda and the homeless he'd served in Nicaragua. It was astonishing the power the weak could have en masse.