The idea of people hypocritically saying "Lord, Lord" makes me think of politicians who are good at saying the right words but give little evidence that they mean to put their words into practice.

But then the rest of us are just as hypocritical if we criticize them but fail to do our part, beginning with voting. I'll have to admit, here I am busy making a movie about politicians but then Tuesday's primary election caught me by surprise. I thought we'd already had our primary. And now I have to sort through all those prospective judges, and I haven't been able to find help from newspapers or online.

But the most frustrating thing about Tuesday's ballot, of course, is something there's too much help with, the unhelpful kind of help. While there are only two propositions on the ballot this time, there are so many words and "Lord, Lords" out there from the sponsors of the competing propositions 98 and 99, that it's hard to get underneath the words to the heart of the matter.

In recent years, there have been Supreme Court decisions allowing local governments to use its eminent domain power to take ownership of private property but then transfer its use to a private developer. The government paid the homeowner -- that's not the problem. The debate arises because property is supposed to be taken by eminent domain only if the property is needed for a public use. So should the local government be allowed to transfer the property to a private developer? The governments claim that the private developers will generate jobs and tax revenue. The Supreme Court's decision is that these sorts of benefits -- jobs and tax revenue -- fit the definition of public use.

Both propositions 98 and 99 seek to restrict the use of eminent domain. But it gets confusing. Proposition 98 has brought rent control into the argument, saying that government-imposed ceilings on rent is a kind of seizing of private property. Opponents of 98 say that it eliminates rent control, but phasing out is probably a more helpful term. As long as a current renter doesn't move from housing that became rent-controlled before January 2007, their rent-control will remain intact. But if you move or aren't already in rent-controlled housing, then you won't have rent control. Proposition 98 may also limit measures that require developers to provide for affordable housing.

Proposition 99 was also created to restrict the use of eminent domain, but its focus is narrower, seeking extra protection for homes, not all private property, specifically homes occupied by their owners for at least a year. And 99 doesn't seek to phase out rent control. What's really important but hasn't been stated explicitly in any commentaries that I've read, is that California law already allows seizure of private property only for a public use. The two propositions are merely trying to get more specific.

With ballot propositions, I find that just as important as what the propositions say is who is supporting them. That can hint at possible hidden motives. Proposition 98 is supported by the Howard Jarvis Taxpayers Association, which exists to limit taxes, and the California Farm Bureau. Proposition 99 is supported by the American Association of Retired People, the Coalition to protect California Homeowners, and the League of Women Voters.

But still more important is who is paying for the propositions. Most of the $5 million contributed to Proposition 98 came from apartment and mobile park owners. Roughly half of the $7 million contributed to Proposition 99 came from the League of California Cities Non-Public Fund.

In other words, the elimination of rent control would appear to be the main motive of the authors of and most of the contributors to Proposition 98, and the defeat of Proposition 98's eminent domain restrictions may be the main motive of the authors and the large contributors to Proposition 99.

The California Bishops' website has a somewhat helpful page on these two propositions. While the page's descriptions of the measures are lacking, it has a few boxes that highlight Catholic social teaching about private property and the common good. In Pacem and Terris, Pope John XXIII wrote, "The right to private property...derives from the nature of humanity. This right is an effective means for safeguarding the dignity of the human person and for the exercise of responsibility in all fields; it strengthens and gives serenity to family life, thereby increasing the peace and prosperity of the state. However, it is opportune to point out that there is a social duty essentially inherent in the right of private property." (No. 21-22)

The Second Vatican Council, in Gaudium et Spes, says, "By its very nature private property has a social quality which is based on the law of the common destination of earthly goods." And the United States Bishops' letter Economic Justice For All, says that "the common good may sometimes demand that the right to own be limited by public involvement in the planning or ownership of certain sectors of the economy. Support of private ownership does not mean that anyone has the right to unlimited accumulation of wealth...For example; these limits are the basis of society's exercise of eminent domain over privately owned land needed for roads or other essential public goods." (No. 115)

In other words, the Church teaches that private property is a right, but a right that is meant to benefit the common good. Thus, governments may, at times, need to use private property for the common good. And landlords may, at times, need to be required to limit rent increases so that people with limited means can exercise their right to housing. Or if rent control measures aren't used, other provisions have to be made to provide people with housing.

Of course, the voter doesn't have to decide between the two propositions. We can vote no on both of them.

The challenge of trying to figure out the meaning and possibly hidden intentions of the propositions brings to mind St. Paul's distinction in today's passage to the Romans between faith and the law. While we apply God's word to concrete situations through law, we are challenged to practice the law from the heart.

Moses tells the people in today's first reading: "Take these words of mine into your heart and soul. Bind them at your wrist as a sign, and let them be a pendant on your forehead." A lot of people wear those plastic wrist bracelets to remind themselves and others of important issues and sentiments. I suppose we could all wear pendants on our foreheads, as long as we don't merely wear them but let them be imprinted on us.

Maybe tattoos would be better. We should all have tattoos on our foreheads. Or better, tattoos on our hearts and souls. Although I hear tattoos on the soul are very painful and especially hard to get off. But God's law of love is already written on our hearts. We need only to follow this deepest knowledge of our hearts.

While we seek to build our earthly houses on the rock of law, more important is that we seek to build our lives on the rock of safety and salvation, Jesus -- to put his words into practice.

My visit to my 23-year-old nephew Kurt in Taiwan these past two weeks has been about feet. We did a lot of walking. As Kurt and I walked a lot together, we talked a lot too, especially about whether or not he should return to the United States the long way around. He and three friends are teaching English in Taiwan this year, and his friends want him to finish off the year by traveling through Asia and Europe with them. But Kurt felt this might be an extravagance that flies in the face of so much poverty in the world. He'd like to do some service during the trip, but will he be in any one place long enough to do much good?

Kurt's been doing a lot of reading and thinking about important things and about the kind of lifestyle he wants to lead. One of the many writers he's been reading is the beloved Buddhist teacher Thich Nhat Hanh, who warns us about how we sometimes walk through life: "Although we walk all the time, our walking is usually more like running. When we walk like that, we print anxiety and sorrow on the earth." Kurt wants to walk through life in a life-giving way.

As Kurt and I walked together these past couple weeks, our feet took us into a lot of new experiences. Especially with food. Food is always my first interest when I travel. As Moses said to the Israelites, who were on their feet for forty years, God "fed you in the desert with manna, a food unknown to your ancestors." Well, God certainly fed me these past couple weeks with some food unknown to my Irish ancestors.

My favorite foods were at the wonderful night markets, where we'd stroll from booth to booth sampling whatever struck our fancy. I especially liked the stuffed rolls and dumplings, served steaming hot with spicy garlic sauce. I thought I was adventurous, but I couldn't bring myself to try the stinky tofu, let alone the snake blood served on Taipei's old Snake Alley. Kurt and his friends have even discovered an exotic eatery in Taipei called Subway, which they dutifully frequent in order to fully experience Taiwanese culture.

But new foods weren't the only new things I encountered on my journey. I'm always interested in the plumbing when I travel out of the country. (I did try to go to a museum one day, but I couldn't find the right bus.) I was intrigued by the showers in Taiwan, which aren't divided from the rest of the bathroom. This gives you a lot of room in the shower. It also assures that the toilet will get showered as much as you do.

Really, the whole island of Taiwan is one big shower. You never know when it's going to rain. And it's not even the typhoon season yet. The abundant rain is like manna from heaven, even if the acid content is on the high side. While I walked in the rain, everyone else in Taipei was on a scooter, sometimes a whole family on one scooter. Scooters everywhere. Scooters that spew a lot of pollution. Many people wear decorative masks for protection.

I didn't participate in the scooter culture, but when Kurt and I spent a few days on the Visayan Islands in the central Philippines, we spent plenty of time being taxied by motorcycle, the operator, Kurt, and me all on one bike, Kurt and me holding on to our backpacks with one hand, holding on to the bike with the other, and holding on to each other with our third hand.

Even more fun were the omnipresent Filipino "tricycles," motorcycles with a little passenger cart attached, which Kurt and I seemed to fill yet which quite a number of Filipinos were able to occupy without complaint. These tricycles were all proudly decorated, often including a dedication to God.

Still more fun were the buses we took along the beautiful Philippine coastline, windows wide open (when there were windows). But the inside of the buses was as entertaining as the outside was beautiful. Lots of people, and some animals, filled the seats and aisles. The conductor surfed the aisles, often in front of the always-open back door, while punching holes in peoples' tickets in intricate, indecipherable patterns and somehow keeping track of where every one of the passengers was supposed to get off.

We had an incredibly relaxing time in the Philippines, where life was turned down quite a few speeds from Taipei (and L.A.). We even discovered the beach where God lives, where we were cradled in God's hands in the gentle, warm wavers. Perhaps God cooks there, too. They serve pancakes for dessert as well as for breakfast, thick, cake-like pancakes filled with mangos and bananas.

God was not only recognized by the tricycles and the village patronal feast days in the Philippines, but also in the churches and temples of Taiwan. We celebrated Pentecost at a mostly English mass. It was Mothers' Day there, too, at least in that parish, and the mothers processed with banners that proclaimed "love" in many languages. The intercessions asked God's help in a Pentecostal range of languages. (Speaking of languages, I tried my hand at some Chinese in Taiwan, although the tonal quality of the language makes it very difficult. If you don't pronounce a word just right, you run the risk of saying something quite different than you intend.)

Longshan Temple is a particularly beautiful temple in Taipei. It was originally intended to be Buddhist, but it incorporates many Taoist deities and other religious elements. It's quite an experience to watch all the early evening worshippers offer incense and food. I even saw tiramisu being offered.

One night, Kurt and I happened on a huge outdoor ritual celebrating the Buddha's birthday. And right next to that ritual was a transcendent concert by the internationally known Taiwanese drumming and dance group called U-Theatre, whose members dedicate themselves to a life of meditation.

While this trip was about feet, about journey and discovery, even pilgrimage and dancing, at some point I became more deeply aware that all of these new experiences -- this manna of food, culture, people, and ritual -- came from God's hands.

This is the same God who extends his hands on the cross to hold out to us the gift of himself: "The bread I will give is my flesh, for the life of the world...Unlike your ancestors who ate and died nonetheless, the one who feeds on this bread shall live forever." Thich Nhat Hanh suggests to us Christians that Jesus knew that if his disciples would eat one piece of bread in mindfulness, they would have real life.

But there is a lot of death in the world. And over there I was not only close to the death of the storm in Myanmar and the earthquake in China, even the death in Iraq, Afghanistan, and other warring places, but also close to the death and dying of poverty that is experienced in every corner of the world.

During our long walks and talks, Kurt awakened me to the complexity and extent of the need to manage God's resources so as to avoid the death and collapse suffered by past societies that failed to reverse their environmental degradation. Speaking of feet, it's not just carbon footprints we need to be concerned about. It's whether we tread lightly on or trample all our resources, from food to fuel to forests to fish. These themes are spelled out very persuasively in a book Kurt's been reading called "Collapse."

As we talked about the environment, Kurt once again found himself questioning the proposed two-month journey home. Would the benefits of such a trip justify the ecological impact? He'd like to do some research along the way for his proposed career building environmentally-friendly homes. But he wonders if he has enough experience to benefit from such research.

Food, fuel, forests, fish. And people. Take the Filipinos. After more than three centuries of occupation by the Spanish, the Philippines were taken over by the United States, which quickly slaughtered as many as one million Filipinos, mostly civilians. Then the United States occupied the country for decades more.

The death and dying, our greedy grabbing from God's hands, was most poignantly and clearly made apparent to Kurt and me one evening in the impoverished Philippines. A little girl approached us with her hand out. And as soon as Kurt reached in his pocket for some change, she called three other children over. Kurt now saw four little hands extended to him, God's hands. And with God's hand Kurt pulled out his change and thankfully had a coin for each of the four small hands. Once again, Kurt wondered if a two-month trip back home would be unduly lavish.

I saw God's hands in other places during my trek. The hands of Kurt's Taiwanese friend Hamy prepared a delicious meal for us one night. Groups of Taiwanese took to the streets to extend their hands for relief money for their somewhat estranged Chinese sisters and brothers suffering from the earthquake. I even met a Canadian resident of Taiwan who has a large tattoo of a hand blending into a wave, with a Chinese inscription that says, "In God's hands."

There is a park in Taipei called the 2/28 Peace Park, commemorating the uprising of the people on February 28, 1947, an uprising which finally led to justice in recent years. Of course this was, like in the Philippines, after centuries of occupation by various nations. The central monument in the park has two hand imprints in which visitors from everywhere have placed their hands. When I put my hands there, whose hands did I touch?

At mass, we practice recognizing the hand of God feeding us, and we practice allowing our hands to be God's hands as we share the eucharist with each other. And because our food is God, our sharing is not only practice but nourishing, transforming power. With God's help, we are capable of creating a world where everyone is fed, a world where all the resources God gives us are sustained and shared.

Kurt finally decided to take that trip with his friends, to shake hands with and learn from people of many nations at the risk of leaving some ecological footprints. By encountering many people, Kurt will encounter the fullness of the one body of Christ. And as Thich Nhat Hanh recommends, Kurt will try "to walk in a way that [prints] peace and serenity on the earth...to walk as if [he is] kissing the earth with [his] feet."

We are on the journey with Kurt and with our sisters and brothers everywhere. Taking each other's hopeful hands, God's hands, we process together into the future with faithful, reverent, and joyful feet.

I've had a lot I've been stirring around in my preacher's stew this past week and surprised myself by writing a poem for you as my preaching for today. In the stew is this bittersweet feast of the Ascension of Jesus into heaven, the anticipation of next Sunday's outrageously joyful feast of Pentecostal diversity and the coming of the Holy Spirit, and Jesus' commission to make disciples of all nations -- how are we as a nation doing as a disciple of Jesus?

Another ingredient in my preacher's stew this past week has been a preacher I just happened on on YouTube this week. You've probably never heard of him. His name is Jeremiah Wright. For some reason, there has been a lot of national attention paid to him recently, and he has taken the opportunity to tell people about black Christians in the United States, their history and their hopes.

I watched all three of the main videos of Reverend Wright and learned a lot. Sure, he has a style that's a bit more aggressive and seemingly unconciliatory than I'm usually comfortable with. Perhaps that's even traces of racism in my soul. More importantly, I thought he generalized to a fault sometimes. For example, there's his tendency to contrast blacks and whites with fairly broad stokes. But then maybe a white person like me might be inclined to feel this way. I don't want to be left out of the black experience. After all, my black Dominican brother and I don't call our concert the "Black OR White Concert" but the "Black AND White Concert: A Friendship in Song."

Reverend Wright also regularly distinguishes between Americans and the American government, which also feels a little inaccurate and unproductively "us and them" to me. I am the government. We are the government. But then what do I know about the exclusion of African Americans from their own government? Blacks haven't even been allowed to vote for long and many still have trouble doing so.

But the bottom line is that I learned a lot from Reverend Wright this past week, and I encourage you to go to YouTube and check these videos out. Most of us don't get to regularly hear a black preacher, and this is a moment of opportunity. The three main videos are Reverend Wright's talk at the National Press Club, including the Q&A, his talk to the NAACP, and his interview with Bill Moyers, that white Southern journalist with such depth and integrity. I believe it's in all three of these videos that he talks about the black and white experience of music, including, in one of the speeches, handclapping, which made me think of the awesome invitation in today's psalm: "All you peoples clap your hands." By the way, I also discovered a brief video of a Catholic priest and friend of the Reverend Wright's in Chicago, a Father Flager, a white man, who defends his friend in no uncertain terms in an interview with a young, uninformed journalist.

One other ingredient in my preacher's stew I want to mention before sharing my poem with you is a play I went to last weekend called "Lady." Lady is the name of the dog that goes hunting with three childhood friends. One is now a conservative senator, whose campaign manager was his regretful liberal friend whose son has decided to sign up for the Marines after talking with the senator. Watching these two characters, I got it better than I've ever gotten it before, the mindset of some who wanted to go to war in Iraq. "We had to do something," the senator tells his friend. "Even if it wasn't going to be the best choice, we had to do something." And his friend responds: "We should have waited. Simply waited." Of course, doing something immediately and compulsively and waiting indefinitely aren't our only options in life. But there seemed to be something profoundly true in this call to wait, especially as we wait for the coming of the Spirit.

So, with that long introduction over, here's the short poem I wrote for you:

Once there was a choir. Now that choir had a lot of different sorts or voices: sweet voices, sour voices, voices that were blue. That choir had strong voices, gentle voices, both of which were true. Some voices were angry, some were peaceful, some were filled with hope. Some voices were afraid, some were bold, some sang the whole range or scope.

And in that choir, there were many hands. That choir had hands that were downbeat clappers, hands that were upbeat clappers, and hands that clapped with their own sense of time. Some hands were syncopated, some hands raised and elated, some still clapping way past their so-called prime.

That choir also had many ears. Ears that liked to hear dissonance, ears that liked the familiarity of home, and ears that liked it loud. Some ears were open, others not so much, maybe a little proud.

Now that choir, with its many voices and many hands and many ears, was quite a crazy throng. Yet the more voices, hands, and ears that joined in, the richer and livelier their song. All belonged. None were wrong -- not completely. All were true, if not always neatly. And together they could sing anything that came along.

How could this be, you might wonder? How could they keep from endless blunder? They had a secret which everyone knew. A secret easy to forget but true. That secret, that secret was in the soul. But that secret, their secret, was out of control.

Because that secret, though strange and odd, that secret was from God. That secret was...strong and blustery. But that secret was never wrong, always trustworthy.

Did I tell you God was in that choir? That God has hands and a voice? Did I tell you God even has ears? That God sang in that choir and rejoiced?

But that's not the secret. Do you know it? Can you hear it? Is it dancing between your clapping hands? It's the Spirit.

That Spirit is God's. That Spirit is ours. It blows where it wills. It comes down like lovely spring showers.

But right now that Spirit is quiet. That Spirit waits. So we wait, too. While that Spirit re-creates.