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.

Last night I saw "The Band's Visit," the Israeli movie that was loudly disqualified from Academy Award consideration for best foreign language film because just over 50% of its dialogue is in English.

Writer/director Eran Kolirin's debut feature is a grand celebration of little human moments -- funny, touching, probing. It's about an Egyptian police band that arrives in Israel to discover that no one has come to pick them up. They take a bus to the wrong town -- a desolate, lonely town -- where they spend the night with curious and bored Israeli hosts.

At the center of the story is the distinguished, middle-aged conductor of the 8-member band, played by Sasson Gabai (think Ben Kingsley), who is worried about the band's future. The much younger restaurant owner, played by Ronit Elkabetz, turns her brazen sexual charm into high gear for the evening, which unfolds in surprising ways for both of them.

Then there's the young rookie in the band, a lady's man who counsels one of the locals step by step on a date. And the assistant conductor just might find inspiration in the unlikeliest place to finally finish the concerto he's been writing for years.

Somehow, the film gets us laughing at all these characters and at the same time seeing them as real, full-blooded people. Of course, without needing to say anything, the film also explores the tensions and affections between Arabs and Israelis.

The film just opened in Los Angeles and New York, and hopefully will spread throughout our own lonely and hopeful land.

It looks like a theme for me this year is the contemplative experience: simplicity and stillness.

1. Into Great Silence. A nearly three-hour experience of monastic contemplative life, sublimely pieced together. Sounds dull to me, too. I was riveted.
2. The Pool. Set in India, a poor, 18-year-old man/boy's tentative quest for a better life. The story is so simple, the acting so natural. Even a surprise ending. And none of it maudlin.
3. The Savages. Adult brother and sister find themselves taking care of their estranged father. So funny and touching both.
4. Gone Baby Gone. A young private eye gets in over his head, procedurally and morally.
5. The Golden Door. Immigrants journey to the U.S. at the turn of the 20th C. A visual feast of the imagination.
6. The Lookout. A young man reconciles himself to a car accident in this simple, elegant character study.
7. Once. Two unavailable musicians meet, collaborate, and chastely love. An exquisite scene when he teaches her one of his songs.
8. 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days. A young woman helps her friend get an illegal abortion in communist Romania. Long, contemplative takes root this thriller.
9. Happy Desert. A 15-year-old girl in Brazil falls into prostitution. Heartbreaking yet transcedent.
10. August Evening. Two undocumented workers, a middle-aged man and his daughter-in-law, stick together as they both grieve the loss of their spouses. His acceptance of life as it comes to him is deeply moving.

Other favorites from 2007: In the Valley of Ellah, Grace is Gone, A Mighty Heart, Breach, The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, Wristcutters: A Love Story, Snow Angels, Bug, Echo

GETTING TO SUNDANCE

We finished shooting my new film "Inside Darkness" on a Thursday night, and early the next morning I was on a plane for my annual pilgrimage to the Sundance Film Festival in Park City, Utah. "Inside Darkness" is the 45-minute piece I've been working on about three presidential candidates mysteriously trapped in a room together (no, it's not a comedy). It will be shown in 2-3 minute episodes on the Internet and also distributed as a DVD with discussion questions and other extras.

The 6-day shoot ended with a creative miracle. The schedule of the theater where we shot and the schedule of one of the actors had put us behind. The last day looked like it was going to be a long one, but late in the afternoon our cinematographer, the talented and dedicated Jayson Crothers, came up with an idea for abbreviating and combining the last two scenes.

As Karen Landry, who plays the Republican incumbent, put it, the revision was elegant. She and the other actors, Scott Alan Smith and Russell Andrews, are very very good. Joe Rassulo, who very capably and enthusiastically produced with me and read my script a million times, brought them and other quite talented crew members to the project. Everyone was working for little money, relatively speaking. And we all worked very well together. What a pleasure, a great experience.

I arrived in Salt Lake City, but before heading to Sundance, John Paul and I sang our Black & White concert at the University of Utah's Catholic Newman Center. We've been singing these concerts that chart the intersection of black and white music in America. We weave the songs together with stories of our lives and our friendship as Dominican friars and priests.

The next day, our classmate Daniel (of the Spiritual Magic of Fr. Daniel) shuttled us to Park City for a concert at St. Mary's Catholic Church, where I stay and also preach every year during the festival. Sunday morning, we finally entered the Sundance sanctuary and saw a movie: "The Wackness," a fun and sometimes insightful comedy about a teen who trades weed for therapy (from Sir Ben Kingsley, who was there for the Q&A). John Paul headed back home to San Diego, and I was just starting...

JESUS AND HITLER

My favorite film of this year's festival is a thriller called "The Wave." It's based on the true story of a California high school's experiment in autocracy in the 1960's. The film is set in current Germany, though, where the students are especially tired of the subject of autocracy. They've been taught all their lives about the evils of Nazism and are certain that such a movement could never happen in their country again. Their upstart teacher, who would have preferred to teach the unit on anarchy, gets their attention of his bored students, though, with a participatory experiment.

Of course, it goes bad. But not without some thought-provoking benefits, including a sense of belonging and purpose for the students, especially the misfits ("Breakfast Club" meets "Fight Club"?) I'm told the true-life teacher was there for the Q&A on opening night. The true story is even less plausible than the film. In real life, the movement spread over three high schools and swept up 800 students in just five days.

To pursue the theme further, I saw a documentary called "Durakovo: Village of Fools," about a Russian village where youth go to get indoctrinated into the country's widespread Christian nationalist movement. "God, tsar, and fatherland" -- that's the motto of the village and the movement, and they want to get rid of all foreigners and Western influences.

The leader of the village is a fat man with a swimming pool, sauna, and two overworked cellphones. He's a mean and unpredictable man whose whims are obeyed with fear. Okay, so he doesn't sound so much like Jesus but more like a Hollywood producer.

This is all fascinating (and frightening -- it all sounds a little bit like Christian nationalism in the U.S.), but my fear of documentaries was also fed -- I prefer the strong story and aesthetic usually found only in fiction films.

These two films made it into my annual Sundance homily. The gospel story for the Sunday at the end of the festival, with the brothers leaving behind their fishing nets and families to follow a stranger, sounded a little bit like these movies. Is there a difference? Then there's the darkness that happens inside that room where I trap the presidential candidates in "Inside Darkness."

FATHER FIGURES

My second favorite film at the festival was "Red," with the always-powerful Brian Cox as an old man seeking an apology from the boys who killed his dog. I guess I like thought-provoking thrillers. The old man is amazingly controlled and balanced in his initial reaction. He doesn't want revenge or even jail for the boys. And even more than an apology, he seems to want the boys to learn a lesson and mature.

But one of the boys is particularly vicious (perhaps a weakness of the film -- can a kid, or anyone, be that evil?), his father isn't much better, and the old man has some hidden wounds of his own, so one thing leads to another. I was really disturbed, even sickened a bit, when a good part of the audience applauded and cheered when the old man goads the bad seed boy to attack him so that he can attack back. What was especially disturbing was that I wanted to cheer, too.

Were the filmmakers cheering as well? I'd like to think they were rather bating us, implicating us in the old man's revenge so that we would be chastened later. The old man holds the boy down and seems to be within his rights as he warns the boy to repent. But then the old man bashes the boy's head into the sidewalk. No cheering this time. Did we really see this calm, measured, upright man do that? What else might he be capable of? What might we be capable of?

My third favorite film was "Captain Abu Raed," an audience favorite and Jordan's first fiction feature in fifty years. It's a really tender and touching about another old man, an airport janitor who finds a pilot's hat in the garbage one day. When a boy in his poor neighborhood sees him wearing the hat, the boy asks the old man to tell him stories about his adventures around the world as a pilot. The old man insists he's not really a pilot, but the boy will have none of it, so eventually the old man finds himself telling stories to all the local children about his fictitious adventures as a pilot.

When one boy tries to tell the other children that the old man is a janitor, the old man invites him into the group rather than excluding him. But when the boy manages to convince the other children that the old man is a janitor and not a pilot, the other children disown the old man. However, the old man forgives the boy with gentleness and grace. "Malish," he tells the boy. "It's okay."

In fact, at great risk to himself, the old man decides it's time to act on protecting the boy from his abusive father. Besides a few performance flaws by the mostly inexperienced actors (which should have been caught by the apparently inexperienced director), the only flaw in the film is its lack of acknowledgement that the old man should have come to the rescue much sooner. Or is this lack of guidance for the audience a strength?

A MIDDLE EASTERN SUMMIT ON A SUMMIT IN THE MIDDLE OF UTAH

"Under the Bombs" is another good Middle Eastern film, this one from Lebanon. Just four days after the official ending of Israel's bombing of Lebanon two summers ago, while the bombs were still dropping, they started shooting this improvised fictional story of a mother looking for her little boy during the bombing. The improvisation led to a more episodic, less dramatically and engaging structure, but it also led to an immediacy and to an authentic intimacy between the mother and her taxi driver. The mother was played with force and depth by Nada Abou Farhat, who has a striking, unadorned beauty.

I didn't get to see "The Strangers," an Israeli film that lots of people told me was a favorite of theirs. It's a story about a Palestinian and Israeli meeting on the subway in Germany and falling in love. It was shot during the actual World Cup to lend the film a feeling of authenticity. It got very real when Israel's bombing of Lebanon began, and the writer/director decided to continue the film with the lovers trying to insulate themselves from the war by escaping to Paris.

The writer/directors of all these two films and "Captain Abu Raed" were on a Middle Eastern panel that included the directors of "Be Like Others" (in Iran, homosexual relationships are banned, so many gays and lesbians tragically become transsexuals), "Slingshot Hip Hop" (Palestinian hip hop artists), "Dinner with the President" (the filmmakers' request of dinner with Pakistani president Musharraf is granted), and "Recycle" (a Muslim scholar and his boys collect cardboard in Zarqa, Jordan, where the infamous terrorist al Zarqawi grew up).

I saw this last one and was disappointed. When will I learn not to expect a good story from a documentary? This was just too elliptical for me. What is the filmmaker trying to say about terrorism, Islam, and poverty?

The greatest thing about the panel was that these people were all on it together, Israeli included.

BLACK IN THE U.S.A.

Quite a few films involved the black experience in the United States. My favorite of these was "Sugar," made by the same people who did "Half Nelson," the Ryan Gosling movie that was my favorite film anywhere in 2006. "Sugar" is about a 20-year-old man from the Dominican Republic who comes to the United States to try to work his way up the minor league ranks to the big leagues. I wasn't thrilled about the baseball theme, but I liked "Half Nelson" so much and a ticket was available, I decided to give it a try.

Apparently, the baseball stuff was quite authentic as movies go. What was really compelling was the way the system devours these young players and their dreams, a system depicted not as malicious or even particularly greedy. It's a bit jarring and somewhat anticlimactic, yet refreshing, when the movie becomes about something other than the young man's baseball ambitions.

I also liked "Ballast" very much. It's set in the Mississippi Delta and is about a young boy, his mother, and his uncle trying to figure out what each other means to them after the boy's father kills himself. Non-actors do a pretty good job in this understated, quiet, slow, and simple film without any music.

"Trouble the Waters" won the documentary jury prize. It's a very informative, sometimes maddening, and ultimately uplifting view of the post-Katrina struggle of a young black woman, Kim Rivers, and her husband using the crisis to move beyond drug dealing and self-concern despite lack of government help. She had just bought a video camera for $20 before Katrina and caught the absurd and shameful story of her and her husband among those without transportation out before the hurricane hit.

Her grandmother was left behind in the hospital and died, and her brother and his prison mates were abandoned by the guards. The directors stumbled upon Kim and her footage after being thrown out of the local National Guard headquarters, where they had planned on shooting a film about the Guard returning from Iraq to destroyed homes.

Kim's upbeat but in-your-face attitude grew on me until I watched with awe and admiration as she rapped along to a recording about self-empowerment. Then I realized it was her that was on the recording.

As important and disturbing as Kim's hurricane footage is, it needed to be trimmed more. Also, the story was a bit disjointed. I think its jury prize was less about the movie and more about kicking the government in the rear for still not rebuilding the 9th Ward in New Orleans. Then again, I'm the guy who lacks respect for documentaries.

"North Starr" shouldn't even have been accepted into Sundance -- it's littered with homemade philosophy from one of the characters, unevenly played by the writer/director, and hampered by an implausible climax. Yet I don't regret watching it -- it has some very evocative themes and images. It's about a black rapper who escapes from Houston to a redneck town, where he is greeted with love and hate. The highlight was the music, especially when the main character raps, accompanied by a white country band.

Despite my docuphobia, a handful of "black in America" documentaries are calling out to me from the festival lineup: "Traces of the Trade: A Story From the Deep North" (the filmmaker and nine members of her extended family -- she invited 200 -- journey from Ghana to Cuba to uncover the shame of their being from our country's largest slave-trading family), "The Order of Myths" (the director's film about Mardi Gras in Mobile becomes an expose of the persistent segregation of the celebration, with the current white queen being from the family that enslaved the family of the current black queen), "Made in America" (the deep roots of South Central L.A.'s poverty and gangs), "The Art Star and the Sudanese Twins" (white feminist Vanessa Beecroft adopts black Sudanese twins and controversially uses them in her performance art), and "The Black List" (portraits of 20 contemporary influential African Americans).

TWO OTHER FAVORITES

"Frozen River" won the jury prize for dramatic feature. It's a simple, straightforward story with a great premise (a white woman joins a young Mohawk woman in human smuggling in order to get enough cash to buy a new trailer for her family to live in), fascinating location and cultural context (a Mohawk reservation and its environs in the dead of winter on the Canadian border), and a very strong lead performance (Melissa Leo).

Further drama comes from the young Mohawk woman's desire to get her baby back from her mother-in-law. The actor who played this character was weak, and the visual element of the film was weak as well, so I'm surprised that it won the big prize. Still, it was a solid little movie.

"Sleep Dealer" won both screenwriting awards, the general award and the special science-related award. The special effects sometimes showed their low budget, but the futuristic story was very involving and insightful -- another thought-provoking thriller. In Oaxaca, Mexico, a young man's homemade radio surveillance rig gets him in trouble with the American high-tech, militarized company that owns the water supply (one of the documentaries at Sundance, "Flow," reveals plans for the privatization of water supplies).

The young man escapes to Tijuana to earn money for his poor family. There, he is literally plugged in as a virtual "node" worker for a construction site somewhere across the border -- talk about outsourcing. Meanwhile, his new girlfriend uses her own node implants to upload and sell on the Internet her new memories of her boyfriend. And a certain buyer is especially interested...

TWO NOTABLES

A couple movies that didn't make it my top tier are especially noteworthy, the first one another Internet movie of sorts. I sent to see "Downloading Nancy" because it stars the great Maria Bello, but I didn't realize what I was getting myself into. She plays a neglected housewife who cuts herself and searches the Internet for a man to abuse her.

The subject matter and lack of any traditional "redemptive" progression (no one here is trying to get better) made for difficult viewing. I thought about following those who walked out (did I want to put myself through this?) but was glad I stayed for the hints of tenderness that finally came.

I would never have sought out the documentary (it's a documentary) "Man on Wire," but I had a ticket to the first award winner screening of the last day. Now this was a documentary with a story. And even a little style. Philippe Petit is the French tightrope walker who crossed between the World Trade Center towers in the '70s, and the movie plays out like a kind of heist movie, using re-enactments to show how he and his team managed to sneak to the top of the towers and prepare the rigging for the walk.

The heist element gives way at times, though, especially at the climax, to the poetic and surprisingly moving footage and still photos of his art, accompanied by Eric Satie's beautiful and melancholy music -- so very French. Petit was at earlier screenings and was asked if he had any phobias. Spiders.

THE WAIT-LIST SUBCULTURE

Each year, tickets have been harder to come by in advance and I've gotten more and more relaxed about it. This year, I went to Sundance without any tickets and without even reading about the movies.

On Monday morning, I did think to go to the main box office, where each morning they release some tickets for the day to some of the previously "sold out films," having determined by tarot cards and deep prayer the approximate number of passholders and entourage members will show up at the screenings. I showed up at 8:00 a.m. for the 8:30 opening time, whereas some people had camped out in the lobby for the night, but I actually got quite lucky. I was even able to pick up some tickets for the rest of the week to films that had never sold out to begin with.

But my bread and butter is the wait-list line. Sure, John Paul and I waited three hours for a movie the first day and didn't even get again. But it only happened to me once more the whole week. Besides, the wait-list line is a great place to meet people. I met lots of great people this year. It's funny, too, how you often run into the same people again (and sometime again). It's fun to get to know the volunteers, who stay at the same venue for the entire festival, and often from year to year.

I almost panicked at one point when I realized having a few tickets already was going to keep me from the wait-list line for a small part of the week -- what would I do with myself? What do the upper classes of Sundance do, the people with tickets or even, gulp, passes?

Ticketing and other tips:

Step One: Register online in the fall. The only deal on passes is possibly the Adrenaline Pass, which allows the intrepid to see any movie that starts AFTER 10 P.M. and the first screening at each theater in the morning (usually 8:30 or 9:00). The package deals are pretty expensive, too, and a lot of luck is involved in getting tickets to the movies you really want to see. I like to register online in the fall to get randomly assigned a time slot for getting back online to choose individual tickets. But nowadays you're not even guaranteed a time slot, and even if you get one, the tickets will have been picked over by then. So it makes sense to register -- just don't sweat it or get your hopes up.

Step Two: If you're up, check out the box office one or more mornings during the festival for the new tickets released as I described above. They release tickets for the first screenings of the next day as well. At least one year, a woman had an underground ticket exchange going outside the box office.

Step Three: The wait-list line. In addition to the high success rate if you get there early and the joy of meeting other wait-listers, the wait-list line allows you to choose movies that you've been hearing or reading about since the festival started. The best way to start up a conversation with someone in line or on the bus (or at the cold bus stop) is by asking a person if they've seen something especially good yet. Besides, it's hard to digest that catalogue ahead of time. And those hyperbolic, high-falutin' film descriptions sometimes don't even give you a good feel for the tone of the film.

Wait-list tickets are only $10 instead of $15. If you get really lucky, someone will come up and hand you their tickets, especially if you're at the front of the line. Keep your eyes open, too, for people selling their tickets. The best place for this is also at the front of the wait-list line. If you're really intense and you're with someone, you can even decide ahead of time, so that you don't miss your opportunity, whether you're going to accept or buy just one ticket if it's offered, leaving the other person to wait and wonder. Also, if you both get in, is it more important to sit together if possible than to get a good seat?

They hand out wait-list numbers two hours before the screening (one hour before the first screenings of the day). Then you can get out of line and relax until a half hour before the show, when you get back in line in your original order. This year, they insisted you would lose your privileged place in line if you were late for this half-hour call. If you want to be at the front of the line (which very occasionally still won't get you a seat), show up when the previous show starts, usually three hours before your screening. But don't bother coming before that because there won't be anywhere to line up.

It's easier to get into the first screenings of the day and the screenings midweek. Also, the last day, when they show all the award-winning movies (all the important people are gone by then). It can also pay off to wait at the larger theaters like Eccles and the Racquet Club.

If you get into a movie, you might consider coming out of the movie and, after the next movie starts, getting in line for the movie after that -- relax, buy some chili or a sandwich, chat people up, or, if you're weird like me, lie on the floor for a few Z's. Very occasionally you can come out of a movie and get into the very next one. Also, free and frequent shuttles will take you to the other venues.

If you want to stay for the Q&A (one of they great joys of film festivals, especially at Sundance, where the highly-talented and often famous writers, directors, actors, etc. are most likely to show up), figure on about 45 minutes from the time the closing credits end to the time you arrive at a new venue.

With each successive screening of a film (there are four), there are fewer people from the film available for Q&A, but usually the director will at least be there, except sometimes on the last day. The premiere screenings are especially fun, although wait-listing is harder for those, especially for the movies with pre-festival "buzz." I like to sit close and on the side where the microphone is, so that I'll be able to see people for the Q&A.

There's also the fringe festivals that have popped up around Sundance. Slamdance is the biggy, hosted at Treasure Mountain Inn a block up Main from the Egyptian Theater. Slamdance can be hard to get tickets for, but you can walk in at the other festivals.

Tromadance is a mainstay and usually takes place at a bar at the bottom of Main. The Park City Film Music Festival and sometimes other festivals and special screenings (sometimes free) take place in the mall across the street from the Egyptian. The last couple years Lisa Thompson from the Filmmakers Alliance (a great L.A. group I've joined) has put together CinemaSlam at this same venue.

There are also a couple official Sundance venues, the Filmmaker Lodge and New Frontiers, with free panels. Get there an hour early if possible.

Relax and take what and who comes your way. It's all good on the mountain.

One of the brothers, our Dominican province's director of development, recently told us that, as he asks people to contribute to our "Lighting the Way" campaign to pay for our new philosophy and theology school in Berkeley, he prays to St. Andrew. Andrew, of course, is the one who apparently had the misfortune of having to ask that poor little boy to give up his bread and fish so Jesus could feed the thousands.

Then again, Andrew was giving this boy a grand opportunity: he participates in Jesus' great sign of God's power and abundance. Jesus gave Andrew the opportunity to participate as well, by doing the asking. And the boy and Andrew are both famous for it.

Andrew is the one who gave his brother Simon Peter the opportunity to follow Jesus. After spending the day with Jesus, the first thing Andrew did was find his brother and tell him that they found the Messiah.

This is our calling, too -- to give others the opportunity to follow Jesus. How can they follow unless they are asked?

Our director of development told us about Andrew because he and our provincial are encouraging us once again -- giving us the opportunity -- to invite people to support our new school. And we have so many other ministries to invite people to participate in through donations, prayers, and other means.

In fact, we are currently inviting people to support our Mud Puddle Films ministry that I currently direct, to help make our next movie happen. I suppose I should dare to ask, to invite: we've got $25,000 and need only $5,000 more. Perhaps you'll feel called to contribute to this ministry, our new school, or one of our many other important ministries.

Meanwhile, here we are at the eucharist, where we contribute what little we have, where we simpy -- but fully and lavishly -- give ourselves, and Jesus feeds us with his very self, the love of God.