Michele Hewitson Interview: Ross Bay

Beyond his boyish grin, Ross Bay has the gift of the gab and an under-stated charm. Photo / Steven McNicholl

Next year, Ross Bay will become the new Anglican Bishop of Auckland. For now he is bishop-elect, and the Very Rev Dean of Parnell's Holy Trinity Cathedral, still rather grand titles.

He sounded not at all grand when I phoned him. He said "cool" and "stand by, stand by" as he looked in his diary. Not very bishopy, I thought, before realising I haven't the faintest idea what an Anglican bishop is supposed to sound like.

What he did sound was busy, as you'd expect in the weeks before Christmas. I tried to bribe him with a posh lunch, at The Grove. He said he didn't know what that was, but might it be on K Rd?

"What did he mean?" I ask him when we do meet, in his not-at-all-grand office at the cathedral. Surely he wasn't trying to be a bit risque?

"I suppose I was. I thought you were telling me about a place that I couldn't possibly have heard of because it was on K Rd and you might have been trying to trip me up if I'd known about it, you see."

Honestly, as if I'd do any such thing to a bishop. I may have said something a bit rude about Anglicans, as a tease. Because Anglicans are that lot, according to me, where anything goes, including lady priests and gay priests, and it's all liberal and nice and not a whiff of hellfire anywhere.

He would, no doubt, be pretty liberal himself.

"Oh, I wouldn't call myself that; others may. I think it all depends on what perspective you look from. There'd be some people who would look at me and think I'm quite conservative. There will be others who think I'm quite liberal." Which is he? "I don't think I'm any of those things. I think," he said trickily, "that I'm too difficult to box."

He votes left of centre. Of course he does.

"Of course! Because the Anglican Church is the Labour Party at prayer. Is that what you think?" I wish I had thought of it; it's a good line. "You can use it." He says the liberal tag is true, to a point.

"Someone once accused me of being a socialist, which is not true because I do believe in the private ownership of property. You could say, well, Anglicans are more a kind of faith that encourages a sense of social engagement ..."

He is a volunteer firefighter and will go on being one when he is bishop.

He believes in miracles, but not in bartering with God for them. He thinks Heaven will have animals, although he won't go so far as to say they have souls - he has two dogs and a much adored 20-year-old cat.

Hell represents "some sense of separation from God". He believes "abortion is not a good thing. I'm against abortion. But I'm not - that's the trouble with being Anglican! - I'm not against it in a way that I would go out campaigning."

He has his own teasing manner, which is slightly, surprisingly, sarcastic, so we got along well. He said, "This is so much fun, Michele!" at one point. I noted that it was at a point where he had just boxed me into a corner of my own making.

He stuck his tongue out at me after the rude Anglicans remark, which was in response to him telling me that "God is neither male or female".

That was faintly shocking: the tongue poking, that is. It was like going to see a Very Reverend fellow and finding a 6-year-old boy in the room, albeit one who is wearing a vicar's dog collar. I said, "I don't think a bishop should go around poking his tongue out at people."

He said I deserved it, and it was "the friendliest of tongue-poking, Michele". Of course it was. It was a very Anglican tongue-poking.

I wouldn't recommend pushing your luck with him. He can dig his toes in. The photographer asked him to sit at his desk. He said, "I'm not sitting at my desk." Did he think he'd look like an authority figure? "You can see it that way, if you like. I like sitting down with people, rather than having a desk between us." Of course he does. "Of course I do." He's an Anglican. "That's right. I'm glad you recognise that."

I had a nosey in his fridge. He said, "Do make yourself at home, Michele." This is what's in a Very Reverend's fridge: a bottle of juice and some milk. (I once had a more profitable nosey in a Catholic bishop's fridge. But I've learned my lesson, and won't make a denominational generalisation about the quantities of Catholic booze versus Anglican milk.)

He offered tea or coffee and made it himself. He scoffed when I asked whether he didn't have people to do such chores. I happen to know he is very good at another chore, ironing, and that he once gave a demonstration to some parish ladies.

"Oh, you do, do you? And how do you know that?" I read it in a parish newsletter. "Is that right? Haven't you done your research! I iron my own shirts."

But why would he give a demonstration?

"Ha. Well, there are particular ways in which church linens should be ironed and folded." This might be evidence of bossiness. "Ha, ha. I was being helpful." He will go on doing his ironing when he's the bishop. "Of course! Who else do you think will do it? If there's no one to make the tea, don't imagine there's someone to do the ironing."

So, yes, he is capable of good fun, but he must also have gravitas. "Aah. I think that's rather for other people to say. I am who I am and I do my best to conduct myself well and professionally, in the different situations I'm in, and people can call that gravitas, if that's the right word for it, at times."

You'd imagine, too, that a bishop must have that tricky-to-define thing called charisma. He ("or she", interjected the Anglican) has to inspire and lead.

Now I'm really not being rude here, but you wouldn't immediately notice him in a crowded room. He's bit awkward-looking: a thin chap with a wide boyish grin. But you only have to spend 10 minutes with him to realise that he has an under-stated charm. He has the gift of the gab, all right, but not in any obvious way. He used to be a banker, in customer service, and got ticked off for spending too much time talking to customers. He is still amused by this. "I always look back on it as quite an irony really. Given I thought my role was to be of service to customers."

He said about charisma, "Well, charisma has a theological meaning. The Greek relates to the word that we translate as grace, and grace is about two things. The way it's used in the Bible is about ways we unstintingly give of ourselves to others in the way that we talk of God's grace to us and Jesus Christ. But it also relates to the idea of charismata and the charismatic as the gifts of God used for the good of others. In English and in the popular sense, we tend to use charisma to mean personality: do you attract people to yourself? So I guess I think what it really means is how we use ourselves and our abilities for the good of others, being able to connect well with other people and draw them in, perhaps."

That is a nice answer. The short answer would be that, yes, he has that elusive quality, in both senses. Partly this is because he is so comfortable about being who he is. You feel very comfortable in his company. He's a happy chap, and says he always has been.

He grew up in Papatoetoe to a "C of E family", meaning his parents were nominally Anglican and went to church at Christmas and Easter. At school he joined a Christian youth group and found his people. He was always a good kid. He liked theatre and singing in choirs. He was Freddy in My Fair Lady: "I was the drippy, romantic one."

It's just possible he might have been a bit geeky at school. "I'm sure other people thought so. I never thought so. Thanks, Michele." He's not really offended. "No, no. Just enjoying the moment. I don't think anyone has ever called me a geek before. That's a nice new name. I sang in choirs, so that's a bit geeky."

He thought for a minute, then said, "I used to sing madrigals at school! And I think madrigals are probably about as naughty as I ever was. Madrigals are kind of like naughty little ditties. They were probably the pornography of the 17th century in England."

To make up for calling him a geek, I'd better say that he likes classical music but also Coldplay and some band called Keane that I, probably geekily, have never heard of. He laughed at me for asking what he wanted for Christmas, but said I could put in a hint to his wife: the bishop wouldn't mind an iPod.

He thinks he might have once told an off-colour joke, but only once. Given the madrigal attempt, I'm glad to hear it was only once. I did ask if he knew any jokes about bishops but, thank God (and that's not blasphemous, but heart-felt), he couldn't think of one off the top of his head.

I'm not sure I believe him. He is very quick and, obviously, very clever. He must, too, be good at the politics of the church to have got the top job.

"Ha, ha. If you think so, Michele. It's kind of you to assume that."

I did assume that one of the perks of being the bishop is that lesser mortals would have to bow and scrape. "Certainly not! I think we relate to one another on a more human level than that."

That is the only disappointing side of him. He'll make a grand bishop, but not, he'd happily agree, a Grand one.