Christmas Eve at Adam's House

Firestone reads all the membership forms, which include a question asking why the person wants to join the church. "People used to say, 'We love Adam's sermons. We like Adam.' Everything was Adam, Adam, Adam," Firestone says. "Now most say, 'We feel welcome here. We feel warmth.'"

Realizing that as the church grows, people get to spend less time with their senior pastor, Hamilton is asking his congregants to spend more time with each other. To help, he has hired an "assimilation director."

Hamilton believes the way is through small groups.

He wants people to sing in the choir, which now has 120 members; or join a Bible study group; or sign up for a special Sunday-school class like the one that doubles as a support group for parents of teens. The members of these small groups become like second families, he says. They are the people you call when you run out of gas on the highway late at night or lean on for support when a family member is ill. As a bonus for the church, the groups help keep people from getting lost in the crowd.

Church leaders think their congregation will finally stop growing in 2018, with weekly attendance peaking at 20,000 people.

Those throngs require seats. And thus last winter "the master plan for our master's plan" was born.

The church sent out a brochure announcing that it would build a temporary sanctuary, this one holding 3,160 people. A permanent, 7,000-seat sanctuary would break ground in 2006; originally, it was to be 150 feet high and stand beside a 250-foot steeple.

But those dimensions startled nearby residents, who rallied against the size of the project last spring.

The church's plans had to be approved by the Leawood City Council, because they conflicted with the city's legendary rules regulating such things as roofing materials, which must have "the look of natural materials such as weathered cedar shakes, slate or tile," according to city code.

"We bought houses here because it's Leawood," one man said at a public hearing at the church. "We're in Leawood, Kansas. We didn't expect to live next to a 9,000-seat facility."

The spire, which the church described as a "beacon of light" with a "translucent glow from within," struck the neighbors as "garish and neonlike." They found the idea of a supersized sanctuary and its $100 million price tag unseemly.

"I don't understand. Exotic building, exotic spire -- I don't think that's what religion is about," another man said at the hearing. "Children need homes. I think the money could be spent in other areas."

Neighbors lamented the fact that they hadn't been briefed on the project or asked for input. "There's never been any kind of give or take at all," said Randy Becker, whose yard borders the church property and who did much to foment opposition. "That was a hostile act on a neighbor."

The neighbors earned concessions. At Hamilton's direction, the architects lowered the tower to 150 feet and the sanctuary to 125 feet. They drew in a berm to shield Becker's living room from headlights in the parking lot. And they moved the tower to the northwest corner of the property, 800 feet from the nearest homes.

Still the neighbors railed.

They charged conflict of interest. One of the project's engineers, James Taylor, was a member of the church and a member of the Leawood City Council. Taylor recused himself from the vote. But church member and City Councilman Gary Bussing did not. Over the course of several hearings, city officials constantly reassured neighbors that they were following the regular approval process and not fast-tracking the expansion, as the neighbors believed.

They decried a letter from Johnson County Commissioner and church member Annabeth Surbaugh, on official county stationery, urging the council to allow the construction. "It is my request that you consider the Church of the Resurrection application in 'a special light,'" Surbaugh wrote.

They argued bad faith on Hamilton's part because he had sold his own house adjoining the church property just before announcing detailed plans for the expansion. (Hamilton defended himself by saying he just wanted to live in the country and needed distance from the church to avoid the late-night urge to walk across the parking lot to turn off a light. "It became very hard to disengage from that church," he said during a hearing.)

They resented Hamilton's prediction that if the church's expansion weren't approved, the prime real estate along 135th Street would be sold to the highest bidder.

To some neighbors, the church plan was a lesser among evils. "Super Target, super Wal-Mart or super church," one neighbor summarized during a hearing. "For the value of our homes, this is the best thing for us."

Eventually, the Leawood City Council gave the project its blessing. But the neighbors continued to wonder who was getting rich from a church-related real estate development just northwest of the property.