At the first synod five years ago, I made a pledge I wouldn't close a single parish. It's like the Bendigo Bank model of going back into the community. If I drive from here to Hamilton, I don't notice the parishes we have, I notice the small places where we aren't.

And Bishop Hough's answer has been the establishment of communities of faith, groups of baptised parishioners who meet together regularly either inside or outside a church to maintain their faith, with regular contact from priests who have a mission district.

And that, according to Bishop Hough, is at the crux of the tensions in the Anglican diocese.

Some priests and parishioners are trapped in that old English parish model that is based around the local church with a local priest, he says.

"It's a difficulty facing all churches. We're no different.

"Were trying to get faith communities around the diocese, understanding that whether youve got a priest or not, we still have responsibilities as disciples to gather together for prayer and worship.

So the issue is not about your leadership style?

``Sometimes I get it right and sometimes I get it wrong.

``Sometimes people will like it and sometimes they won't.

``It's ever the case with bishops but I try my best to get out and listen to people and talk to people, to gather people together, he says.

Bishop Hough admits his methods and appearance are unconventional, that he doesn't fit the usual image of a bishop.

Last year, he conducted a 1500km walk around the region, sleeping on the side of the road and apologising to residents and municipal leaders along the way for the wrongs of the church.

``It was me doing penance for my life as well as doing penance for the diocese. Things our dioceses have done . . . we've done some terrible things to people, the sexual abuse stuff, but also neglect. We've been so busy running our little places . . . I heard the stories and I apologised. That was not easy, I tell you. People would say what went wrong in the church. Father so-and-so did this or the parish council did that. I heard the stories and I apologised.''

He is a self-admitted conservative on matters of gay priests and the ordination of women, yet upholds his time in Papua New Guinea, where he served for 15 years, including five as bishop, as a defining period.

He says it made him comfortable with the idea that destruction, or at least disruption, must precede any process of renewal.

``If you build a church in Papua New Guinea you build it out of local bush materials and in five years its gone. The white ants eat it. It rots because of the weather.

``The whole thing falls down. People in the village have got to decide do they rebuild that church.

``What's our equivalent today?

``Where's our challenge? Where's the new passion for the importance of the gospel for our believers today?''

He points to the cathedral next door to his office.

We're riding on the backs of the passionate faith of people from 150 years ago, or 100 years ago.

Then he condemns his critics.

``How do they think this kind of stuff is good for the church? Maybe that's where I'm naive? Maybe thats where we are as church?''

And the future?

He refers back to his regional walk of faith.

``It wasn't easy physically. It damned-near killed me. But it wasn't easy emotionally either.

``You come face to face with yourself and we don't often do that. We shy away.

``We havent had a chance to see how that has changed my ministry because I went from there to Lambeth (the worldwide conference of senior Anglican clergy) and from Lambeth weve gone to dealing with this other issue.

``Have I been changed? Id like to think I have. I know I have. And I think the people of the diocese will make their choice.''