GREEN BAY, Wis. -- Dwarfed by nearby paper mills, the Mill Town Cafe draws a blue-collar crowd -- and a Catholic bishop who relishes its liver and onions.

	h. Marc Larson, Green Bay Press Gazette photos
	Bishop David Zubik greets diocese staff members following a prayer service in Green Bay Thursday, a day after his appointment as Pittsburgh's bishop was announced. Click photo for larger image.
	Bishop David Zubik gestures during a news conference Thursday in Green Bay. Click photo for larger image.

The first time Bonnie Homan saw Bishop David Zubik enter her establishment, she was amazed.

"I thought, oh, the bishop, he must be high and mighty. But he never made you feel he was higher than you. He made you feel like he was regular people," she said.

Bishop Zubic soon became a regular, usually bringing along his elderly parents. It was the kind of place that reminded him of their hometown of Ambridge, and he wanted them to feel comfortable.

When he is installed Sept. 28 as bishop of his hometown Diocese of Pittsburgh, "it's going to be a huge loss for us," said her husband, Mike Homan.

"We've had some great bishops, but no one as personable as him. He would walk in and talk to everybody. He would reach out to people and take time with them. It didn't matter if they were Catholic or not."

During nearly four years in Green Bay, Bishop Zubik, 57, made news with initiatives to consolidate parishes and schools. But those who knew him say what stood out was his humility, his prayer and his dedication to spreading the gospel.

Deacon Mike Vincent, director of faith formation at SS. Peter and Paul parish and St. Francis Xavier Cathedral in Green Bay, tripled as Bishop Zubik's master of ceremonies. He drove him to parishes and coached the altar servers. Riding in his Toyota Avalon with license DAZ 75 -- his initials and year of ordination -- the bishop reread the daily scriptures. And he always prayed, asking Deacon Vincent to join him.

"He never misses prayer," he said. "I think that is what maintains his ability to face all these difficult things. He is very even-keeled, always level-headed. He truly lives what he believes, and believes what he reads in scripture."

Entering foreign land
Bishop Zubik said he knew "absolutely nothing" of Green Bay when he arrived in 2003.

"I couldn't even pronounce the names of half of the 16 counties in the diocese," he said, citing puzzlers such as Outagamie.

Although he knows the Western Pennsylvania pronunciation of North Versailles, he is not convinced he will return knowing the needs of the diocese where he was a top administrator for 15 years.

"I've got to make sure that I don't pigeon-hole anybody on staff or even the diocese as it was four years ago when I left. Four years changes a lot," he said. "I need to really keep my eyes and ears open to learn what's happened."

Green Bay taught him how to listen because it challenged his assumptions about Catholic culture. Although both Pittsburgh and Green Bay are heavily Catholic cities, have rivers and bridges and are fanatically about their NFL teams, the two dioceses are very different, he said.

Green Bay's priests had experimented with church law and liturgy in ways that Pittsburgh's rarely did. And Wisconsin law gives the laity there far more say over church property.

When it came to teachings of the two most recent popes and his efforts to inculcate them, "there would be a certain segment of people here who would think that the church is going backwards," Bishop Zubik said. He searched for common ground.

"I realized pretty early on that there was a different approach to things here than in Pittsburgh and I needed not to presume that I knew all the answers, that I knew where people were. I needed to listen and learn," he said.

One way he did that was working at lavish fund-raising dinners that Deacon Vincent organized for SS. Peter and Paul parish. In November the bishop stood for hours over a steam table, doling pasta onto plates. In January he donned a waiter's jacket and poured wine.

"He just wants to get right in with everybody else. He would wash dishes," the deacon said.

When cleanup was done at 1 a.m. that Sunday, he offered an impromptu Mass for dozens of exhausted workers who might have had trouble rising for church in the morning.

"That is the essence of that man. Always faith and church first," Deacon Vincent said.

Soon after arriving, he consulted with many groups to develop a mission statement. It became: "Boldly proclaim the gospel of Jesus;" "Prayerfully worship in word and sacrament;" and "Compassionately serve those in need."

He restructured his staff around those goals, creating a Department of Evangelization.

His goal to "grow the church" has even been behind the mergers, said Deacon Tim Reilly, whom Bishop Zubik recruited as director of diocesan administration. The bishop wanted parishes that were united and strong, not scattered and struggling.

"That is why the Department of Evangelization was created. We need the advocacy to those who are part of the church, those who maybe have left the church and those who have no church and need to be invited in," the deacon said.

Closing and merging
Bishop Zubik said he was not sent to Green Bay with orders to close and merge churches and schools. But it was clear that his exhausted priests needed relief. After eliminating 20 parishes, he now has 104 priests for 162 parishes. Some priests still serve five churches up to 50 miles apart.

When he visits parishes that are slated to merge, he often speaks of the day in 1994 when he offered the last Mass of his home parish in Ambridge before it merged, with four others, into Good Samaritan parish. It was where he was baptized, received first Communion, was confirmed and said his first Mass.

"I share with people that I know what it feels like to lose that parish home. At the same time, we need to understand that the church is bigger than the building. Good Samaritan is 13 years old now, and all of those people who used to think that they couldn't go to each others' churches or that they couldn't work together are now working together," he said.

He believes his years in Green Bay have given him valuable experience with sisters, married people and deacons who run parishes without a resident priest. Pittsburgh has just commissioned its first "parish life collaborator."

"It's in the code of canon law," he said of laity overseeing parishes. "The church says that it's a possible ministry, and we need to accept that. For some who might be critical of the role of a parish director and see it as being non-traditional -- well, it is. But these are times that demand that pastoral care be given."

Green Bay seminarians have increased from five in 2000 to 20 today, he said. When he arrived, a part-time vocation director also oversaw two parishes and campus ministry. He made the position full time. He hopes that his own joy in ministry may have inspired some men to think of priesthood.

"I am a person of high energy who is excited about what I am doing. I've been a priest for 32 years, and I wouldn't trade a day," he said.

He has faced criticism. A religious order priest sued after Bishop Zubik removed him as pastor following parishioner complaints about management style and liturgical practices. The Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests castigated him for not publishing names of former diocesan priests against whom there had been sexual abuse allegations, but no criminal charges or lawsuits.

That criticism rankles his staffers, who say he meets with victims of sexual abuse and that preventing abuse was the first priority on which he laid down the law after he arrived.

"He has been unrelenting in his pursuit of that," Deacon Reilly said.

He implemented a program of criminal background checks for parish staff and volunteers two years ago, and was surprised to hear that volunteers in Pittsburgh were balking at similar measures. The Green Bay checks yielded chronic drunken drivers, child molesters and people convicted of assault.

If support for the bishop can be measured by response to stewardship appeals, it appears strong. Last year he introduced Advancing the Mission, which raises money to be split between the diocese and the donor's parish for use in ministry efforts. It also seeks pledges to become more active in the faith.

So far it has raised $23 million and 14,000 promises of time.

"Pastors are seeing growth in the number of people attending Mass. They are seeing people come and get more involved in the parish than they have ever been," Deacon Reilly said.

Wednesdays for priests only
Bishop Zubik loves to visit parishes. He wanted people to know he wasn't remote. He wanted to hug them, laugh with them and preach a homily that would change their lives. He wanted to show that "there's a heart to the face that people see in their bishop," he said.

He visited SS. Peter and Paul in Hortonville, a rural community 40 miles outside of Green Bay, a half dozen times, parishioners said. He didn't come only for confirmations. He brought his father to the fish fry.

Kim Schroeder, the director of religious education, liked how spoke with teenagers just before he confirmed them, never talking down to them. Once, out of the corner of his eye in the packed church, he spotted a family with a severely handicapped daughter in a wheelchair.

"He made a point of going over and speaking to her, even though she can't communicate. That's the kind of person he is," she said.

The bishop's house is a short walk from his office. Both his parents lived with him until his mother's death last year. His father, Stanley, remains spry, tending the colorful flower beds that surround the house and the shrine to Mary in its back yard.

Asked how he feels about his only child becoming bishop of Pittsburgh, he reflected, then gave the same answer that he might if his boy had followed him as a produce grocer.

"My son is a treasure," he said.

When the bishop travels, the Homans bring his father food from the Mill Town Cafe. A nun who works for the diocese stops in to visit. When the bishop is home, there are frequent gatherings at the house.

Recently the bishop held a dinner for priests ordained for fewer than 10 years. They sat on the living room floor to talk about current issues in the church.

"Every single one of them is outstanding," Bishop Zubik said. He believes such men will inspire others to consider the priesthood. "The best billboard for the priesthood is a happy priest."

His deepest regret is that he failed to keep a promise to meet individually with every Green Bay priest. He worries that they believe he didn't care about them.

"I allowed my schedule to get way too full," he said.

In Pittsburgh he has already given orders that Wednesdays are for priests only. "Whether they need to see me or I need to see them, there will be no other meetings on Wednesdays," he said.

When the Steelers played the Packers at Lambeau Field in November 2005, he recruited Deacon Vincent to organize a party for 30 visiting Pittsburghers. There were black and gold dishes, napkins and decorations. The Homans supplied Wisconsin cheese and smoked fish from the Mill Town Cafe.

Despite his divided football loyalties, the Homans said, he was utterly devoted to the people of Green Bay.

"The bishop was happy here. He loved it here. I think that going home means the most to his dad," Mr.Homan said.

Recently the bishop baptized their third grandchild. He drew other children into the sacrament, with one holding his book, another the cruet of holy oil. Afterward he joined the family at a supper club, where alumni of a Catholic high school were coincidentally holding a reunion. He went over to greet them.

"That's how he was. He took time for everybody," Mr. Homan said. "That's what made him special in my heart. He was one of us."