INTERESTS

I enjoy the great outdoors. I like to camp and hike whenever I can get a chance. The best part of camping is, of course, eating. (Why does it seem that eating is the best part of just about anything?) I guess the hard work of gathering firewood, building a fire, and keeping it going takes a lot out of a person.

I fancy myself a bit of a campfire gourmet, especially when it comes to the mountain pie iron. These are my fave creations:

Chicken, pesto, and mozzarella mountain pie Baked ham and Jarlsberg cheese mountain pie Guinness and garlic-marinated steak and provolone mountain pie

And of course the traditional pizza mountain pie, gourmet-up with 6 Italians cheeses, oregano, plenty of garlic, pepperoni, and only the best sauce (DeLallo's, of course).

For dessert, nothing beats raspberry pie filling and chocolate spread.

(I do like cooking indoors as well, but I don’t do much of it because it takes so much time ... and I hate the cleaning up part of it; when camping I can just throw everything on the fire and burn it. That approach does not seem to work in the kitchen. I will post recipes. Here as I figure out how to actually turn my culinary creations into usable recipes ...)

There was a period my first few years of priesthood that I went rock climbing frequently with one or two of my friends. We mostly went to Beam's Rocks in Laurel Summit State Park above Rector, PA. We did make one trip to Cooper's Rock outside of Morgantown, WV. I cannot even remember what started that little craze. I know that I did not originate the idea; I am terrified (and I mean TERRIFIED) of heights. I can hardly bring myself to look out of widows in tall buildings. There is this gnawing fears that if I get too close to the window it will break and I will be sucked out to certain death ...

So spending a Sunday afternoon going higher and higher up tricky rocks always just a misstep away from going splat really was not my notion of a fun time. However, once I gave it a shot I was hooked. The fear was overwhelming and at times, I became paralyzed by it. (There is nothing worse than being half way up and suddenly being unable to move up higher or retrace one's steps back down.) The more I did it, though, the more the fear morphed into an incredible adrenaline rush and - with all 'highs' - the more I became addicted. I hope that I will get back to climbing one of these days ...

I once tried caving with my rock-climbing buddies. Once was definitely enough. Being in the wide open rooms was no prob, but slithering on one's belly through mud and cold water in spaces not much higher than a foot was no place for a person who is rather claustrophobic! Nor did I relish the thought of bats. Yes, I was told that since it was late November they'd all be hibernating, but somehow that didn't comfort me much. Awake or asleep, they were not the sort of critters I wanted to encounter. All in all I really had to psyche myself to go through with this particular adventure. But I did and I am glad. As with rock climbing, there is nothing like the rush of facing your fears head-on and conquering them! However, conquering this fear one time was quite enough for me thank you!

Music is one of my passions. By no means am I a Musician, but I love listening to Music and checking out shows. I would love to be in a band, but I guess Musical talent is - despite the impression one sometimes gets - a necessary prerequisite. And Musical talent is something that I am sorely lacking. Sure, I can strum the guitar a bit, but even after several years of lessons as a kid, I am pretty darn horrible. The biggest problem is that I am severely rhythmically-challenged; there is NO WAY that I can play along with anyone else.  Performing brain surgery would probably be easier for me than keeping time …

I have even tried my hand at songwriting (if you wanna good laugh click here).  I guess my voice is not that bad; hopefully that counts for something. Many times, I have tried to convince friends who have bands that they should let me sing. A priest as lead singer – with a gimmick like that how could a band not make it big! So far, however, no one has been convinced by my brilliant scheme. Oh well …

I have managed to take in a fair number of shows these past years. My favorite was probably the 2001 KROQ Weenie Roast in Irvine, California. I lucked out and got tickets for it when I was visiting relatives in Chino that June Weenie Roast. Warped Tour has also been great. I especially enjoyed the 2004 incarnation. Before its unfortunate demise, I saw many a fine show at Pittsburgh's Club Laga; that venue is sorely missed.

Closer to home I have made an effort to support the local scene, which, for the most part, consists of high school and college kids. Back in the day, when I was in high school, I knew of no kids who were "in bands." Today, it seems that every student and their brother (and sister in many cases!) is in a band. Since probably one third of the high school students in Penn Township belong – at least in name – to St. Barbara’s (my former parish) - the majority of these bands have at least one parishioner and I see it as a part of my ministry to offer whatever encouragement I can. Today, more than ever, young people need to know that Jesus cares about them, their lives, and their passions. As a priest, I need to make Jesus present to his people wherever they may be. I can never forget that most of Jesus’ ministry was conducted not in the synagogue or Temple, but at table with real people in the midst of their daily lives. He shared their joys and sorrows, made their concerns, and interests His own. And so must I.

I have always had an insatiable thirst for knowledge, so I have always been a voracious reader. At this point in my life, nothing interests me more than my faith (in the final analysis everything else that seems so important is really trivial) and so the vast majority of space on my bookshelf is now taken up by books on scripture and theology. I am particularly fascinated with anything that helps me to relate to Yeshua haNotzri (my Lord and Savior Jesus of Nazareth as he would have been known by His Aramaic-speaking contemporaries) as a living, breathing person who lived His life – in accordance with His Father’s Divine plan - as a first-century Palestinian Jew. I have become increasingly convinced that to divorce Yeshua from His Jewish background leads inevitably to a terrible distortion of His message. (A poignant case in point is the whole is what He meant when He said, “Do this in memory of me”, at the Last Supper.) I also have a considerable interest in history and world affairs. For some strange reason I have always been intrigued with a number of the bizarre personalities that have arisen on the world stage, especially those in the communist world. Romania's Nicolae Ceausescu, Albania's Enver Hoxha, Kampuchea's Pol Pot, and North Korea's Kim il-Sung strike me as modern-day equivalents of the worst the Roman Empire bequeathed to history - characters like Caligula, Nero, Caracalla, and Elagabus - and reminders that "the more things change the more they stay the same."

I enjoy travelling and visiting new places. However, I am somewhat hampered by the fact that I absolutely HATE to fly. To my mind if God had intended us to fly, he would have given us wings; huge, metal tubes hurling through the sky at 30,000 feet above sea level just do not seem natural to me. I have flown a few times, but each time I have sworn that it would be my last. My first trip was a pilgrimage to the Marian shrine of Medjugorje in the former Yugoslavia in 1991.

I trusted that the Blessed Mother would see me safely there and back. She did not disappoint. In the autumn of 1999 I and my ordination classmate Fr. George Saletrik traveled to Luneburg, Lower Saxony, Germany.

We went to visit a friend, Stefan Lampe, who had spent a year studying with us at St. Vincent Seminary and who had by then been ordained a priest of the Diocese of Hildesheim and assigned to the parish of Sankt Marien in Luneburg. My last airplane plane ride was to Croatia to visit the Lubic ancestral village in 2000.

In late September 2001, I was supposed to go on another pilgrimage to Medjugorje, but the afternoon of the 11th, I called the person and said “No way!”. Ultimately, the trip was cancelled anyway. The events of that black day may have put the final nail in the coffin of any more flying for me. Yes, when it comes to that particular mode of transportation I am a big chicken. Not that I am afraid of dying mind you; God can have me whenever He so desires. I just prefer that he take me when my feet are firmly planted on the ground ….

When it comes to traveling I am a road trip man; I actually enjoy long periods in the car. My old ride, Walburga, saw alot of action. She took me and my youngest brother Brian across country to Southern California in June 2001. We journeyed the southern route (Interstates 40 and 10), driving 25 continuous hours to Albuquerque, New Mexico, where we toured the old town and spent the night before continuing on to Phoenix, Arizona. There we spent several days with a good friend and her family. The highlight of that leg of the trip was the opportunity to venture several hours north to experience the incredible natural beauty of Flagstaff and Sedona. Finally, we made it to Chino, California, where, mere hours into my two-week stay, I realized that SoCal was different. VERY different. The pace of life was far more hectic than what I was used to in laid-back southwestern Pennsylvania. The experience of that lifestyle made me realize that I was quite happy with the comparatively unexciting life back home. On the return trip, via the mid-transcontinental route (Interstate 70), we spent 35 straight hours in the car from Salt Lake City (where I spent two days doing genealogical research at the Mormon Family History Library) to my Dad's house in Connellsville, Pennsylvania. Now that was fun! Walburga also safely got me to Prince Edward Island, Canada in August 2002, Florida in July 2003, and Houston, Texas (for the National Catholic Youth Conference) in November 2003

After nearing 100,000 miles of faithful service, Walburga graciously gave way to young and sassy Natasha. I broke her in, the very day she became mine, with an all-night drive to Brooklyn for the Episcopal Enthronement of my good friend Fr. Gregory Mansour. To date, though, she has not seen the kind of action that Walburga did. Apart from a wonderful trip to Montreal and Quebec City in August 2004, she has not ventured far from home. (Yet!) That foray north, with two good friends, was my second time in those beautiful French-Canadian cities. The first was in 1998 on a bus trip with my first parish, Mount Saint Peter, in New Kensington. Quebec City, North America's only walled city, is a holiday destination I would recommend to anyone; it is absolutely stunning.

One last mode of transportation remains - travel by sea. I have only been on a real ship once, but I absolutely loved it! In the summer of 2003 I more or less invited myself to join a family from the parish - the family of one of the teachers at the regional Catholic school - on a Carnival cruise to the Bahamas. The five of us - the teacher, her husband, and their two sons (one in college, the other in high school) - had a blast. The only downside was the weight I gained due to the constant eating. Everything I had ever heard about the super-abundance of good food on a cruise ship turned out to be absolutely true - much to the chagrin of my waistline! I look forward to someday being able to repeat this awesome experience.

Apart from these activities, I simply enjoy chilling with friends. I spend many a late evening (after my day ends at the parish) going out to eat, watching movies, or simply hanging out and shooting the breeze. Relationships with people are what are most important to me. I don't really care that much what I am doing as long as I am in the company of friends.