Susan S. Phillips, PhD, is a sociologist, spiritual director, and writer whose work bridges Christian spirituality and the social sciences. For nearly three decades she served as Executive Director of New College Berkeley, where she also taught in partnership with the Graduate Theological Union. She has taught at Fuller Theological Seminary, Regent College, and San Francisco Theological Seminary. Susan delights in exploring how faith is lived out in daily life and how practices of care and spiritual attentiveness shape us as people. She is the author of several books, including The Crisis of Care, Candlelight: Illuminating the Art of Spiritual Direction, and The Cultivated Life: From Ceaseless Striving to Receiving Joy. Susan takes joy in accompanying people in prayer and discernment — whether in retreats, spiritual direction, or everyday conversation.
In this interview, Susan — who has been a practicing spiritual director for nearly thirty years — explores the ancient and life-giving practice of spiritual direction as a vital companion to Christian formation in our modern world. She defines spiritual direction, traces its growth across Christian traditions, and gently addresses common misconceptions about its role in the life of faith. Along the way, the conversation highlights the spiritual power of deep listening, the formative necessity of silence, and the often-neglected practice of Sabbath. Susan also reflects on how spiritual direction nurtures accountability and memory — especially the remembering of spiritual insights and experiences — and offers thoughtful (and practical!) guidance for all of us seeking deeper spiritual sustainability.
Names mentioned:
Erik Erikson, Socrates, Abraham Joshua Heschel, Walter Brueggemann, Josef Pieper, The Syrophoenician Woman, The Desert Fathers and Mothers.
Books:
The Sabbath (Abraham Joshua Heschel)
Sabbath as Resistance (Walter Brueggemann)
Leisure, the Basis of Culture (Josef Pieper)
The Cultivated Life: From Ceaseless Striving to Receiving Joy (Susan S. Phillips)
Radix: Susan, thank you so much for taking the time to do this. To begin, I want to let you “set the stage” a bit. I do want to ask the classic questions: tell us a little about yourself, what you do, and why it’s meaningful to you — but I’d also love to start more broadly. So, For people who don’t know, can you maybe start off by telling us what is spiritual direction? And why is it important that we think about it?
Susan S. Phillips: Spiritual direction is an ancient practice of coming alongside someone as they seek to open their hearts to the Holy One. It appears in various religious traditions, and in early Christianity we see it in the Desert Fathers and Mothers, who listened to people in that way.
When I was in graduate school I was fascinated by listening practices, and I wondered where Christians could go for that kind of deep listening. At the time, in the seventies and eighties, most psychotherapists belonged to professional associations that prohibited addressing spiritual matters in session. That’s when I first heard about spiritual direction. I was meeting with my advisor, a Christian sociologist, discussing my dissertation and this very issue. Eric Erickson, the psychoanalyst, happened to walk in, and he said, “Well, have you looked into spiritual direction?” I said, “I’ve never even heard of it. What is it?” And he replied, “It’s the ancient art of accompanying people as they pay attention to their prayer life, as they try to follow and listen to the Holy.”
For me, that was like receiving a mustard seed. I took it in, and it has grown and grown in my life. Now, almost all of my work relates to spiritual direction. I’ve had my own spiritual directors for about thirty-five years, and I’ve been offering direction for nearly thirty myself. It’s such a blessing — I honestly think it makes the world a better place. It may look sedentary or inactive, but listening to someone at that depth, helping them notice their deepest heart-truths — including what they believe about God and how they see God active in their lives — helps them engage the world in more loving and just ways. And it does the same for me, both in receiving and offering direction.
Today, because we live in such a psychotherapeutic age, spiritual direction often takes on a similar frame: an hour-long meeting by Zoom, phone, or in person; scheduling the next appointment; payment; that sort of structure. But really, it’s been happening for centuries — simply people walking side by side. And it still does.
Radix: Coming from a Protestant background, and of course that’s a very broad term, it seems like spiritual direction is increasing in popularity. Is that growth happening across traditions, do you think? Or is it more concentrated in, say, Anglo-Catholic, Orthodox, or other streams specifically?
SP: My impression is that biblically grounded Protestants are increasingly interested. Evangelicals, people who take their faith seriously, who want to attend to what Scripture invites them into and genuinely follow Jesus day by day — they’re seeking out spiritual direction more now. When I first began doing it and speaking about it in those contexts, I got a lot of friendly fire. It seemed “pre-Protestant,” and some feared that a spiritual director would insert themselves between the directee and God.
Radix: Right.
SP: But that’s not the case at all. Think of musicians using a sounding board: they strike the tuning fork, place it on the board, and the sound is amplified and clarified. A spiritual director functions like that: a sounding board that helps someone notice God’s voice more clearly, be encouraged by it, and sometimes corrected by it. The director isn’t announcing, “This is what God is saying to you.”
So yes, I think interest has grown in Protestant circles. But it’s also growing more generally because people are hungry to be listened to. Our culture has less time and space for listening. We’re all working so hard, and when we’re not working, we’re distracted by our devices — which fragment relationships and communities.
People are seeking someone who will truly listen.
Radix: So if you were speaking to the average person — say, me — and listening has come up several times already, and clearly our culture struggles with it: what would you want to tell me about its importance?
SP: Listening allows the speaker to discover more about themselves. And for the listener, it expands the heart and the mind. It helps us move beyond our own perspective and way of thinking. It’s a scriptural practice — the Shema: “Hear, O Israel.” We are meant to listen. Yet it’s so often overlooked. We don’t teach listening very much. High schools and colleges may offer classes in public speaking…
Radix: Mm-hmm.
SP: Listening is so eclipsed in our culture. Yet throughout history many wise teachers have encouraged it. Some pedagogical approaches rely almost entirely on listening — Socrates’ way of teaching was essentially listening, drawing people into speech, and shaping their critical thinking through dialogue.
We really do have a listening deficit today. I talk with many people who have demanding jobs and small children, and they work incredibly hard to create boundaries, mealtimes and bedtimes, simply so they can listen to their children and be listened to in return.
Radix: I have two questions. Since you’re also a sociologist — sociologists pay attention to how people are shaped by experiences and the systems they inhabit. I’m curious: what does the spiritual director part of you see as affecting people? Not just experience or social structures, but something distinct. I know it’s hard to separate those two parts of you, but what does the spiritual director see differently?
SP: As a spiritual director, I have the privilege of witnessing what people receive from God. Whether I’m meeting with an individual or leading a group, we always include time for silent listening. I’ve learned to ask people to reflect on what they experienced during that silence. It’s astounding.
In group direction, one person speaks for about ten minutes about their recent spiritual experience while the rest of us listen. Then we move into silence together. When we come out of it, the first thing I ask the speaker is, “Did anything more come to you in the silence?” Sometimes they say no, but far more often they say, “Yes, I heard God say to me, I see you,” or “Do not fear; I am with you.” That moment — what they hear or sense in the deep quiet — is often the heart of the whole session. It’s where the tears come.
That isn’t something a sociologist typically talks about.
Radix: Okay, okay. Most interesting. Do you have more to say about the importance of silence?
SP: People are afraid of silence. A few years ago, researchers ran an experiment where participants were placed alone in a room with no devices, just to sit for about ten minutes. They hated it. It was extremely uncomfortable. So the researchers began offering them alternatives — even mildly painful ones, like giving themselves a small electric shock.
And people preferred shocking themselves to sitting in silence.
SP: Your reaction makes me think you can relate to that?
Radix: [Laughter]
SP: The reality is that being alone without a device, in a silent room, fully awake — that’s frightening for many.
Radix: Right.
SP: Some secular practices, like mindfulness, are attempts to help people engage silence: to sit still and notice what distracts them. People are trying. But for millennia, people of faith have been doing exactly this: entering silence before the Holy One.
Radix: You know, speaking of sitting in silence, when I go on retreats, I’m always astounded. And a little embarrassed. I read a lot, so it’s easy for me to think, “I don’t need my devices, I can focus myself.” But when I sit in actual 45-minute silence with just a notebook and one question or one scripture verse… my mind just goes. And I think, “Where did all this come from?” It makes me realize that even when I think I’m quiet and focused, while reading or studying, maybe I’m not as quiet and stilled as I imagine.
You mentioned mindfulness, which is kind of a buzzword now. Are there other practices you use or would suggest? Many of us live incredibly busy lives. And I’m not asking for a shortcut — not the “90 seconds to…” kind of thing, but are there ways we can help ourselves remember to enter silence?
SP: Yes. With spiritual practices, I always believe in starting small. For example, during your devotional time, reading Scripture, journaling, try just five minutes of silence without reading or writing. See what that’s like. Over time it may grow. It helps to have something external keep the time. I love hourglasses, and I have several of different durations that I use with groups. Other people set a gentle timer on their phone. The point is to free yourself from clock-watching.
I also recommend taking something you already do and removing the sound. Drive without the radio off for a time. If you take a daily walk, leave the podcast off — even just for part of it. A small daily practice of silent openness to God is incredibly helpful. It doesn’t have to be a large block of time.
Radix: Right.
SP: One of my directees was involved very early on in helping popularize and lead groups in Centering Prayer: a practice rooted in the Catholic tradition, though many Protestants use it now. It’s similar to mindfulness in some ways. This person recommends twenty minutes in the morning and twenty in the afternoon. They’ve been doing this for more than forty years, and as their spiritual director I get to hear that it’s still a challenge.
Radix: Really! Wow. That says something.
SP: It does. What you described earlier — the “monkey mind,” the constant chatter — it still shows up even for someone that seasoned. I have another directee beginning Centering Prayer who decided on thirty minutes at a time, and I cautioned them to start smaller. It’s like New Year’s resolutions: we defeat ourselves by making them too big. The same applies to spiritual practices. Start small. See how it feels. Then, if it fits you, let it grow. If it doesn’t, you’ll know that too.
It also helps to attach a new practice to something already established.
Radix: Okay.
SP: If you already read Scripture, or journal, or eat breakfast at a regular time, you can attach five minutes of silence to that routine. It has a much better chance of taking root.
Radix: I think Sabbath has also been increasingly popularized — Heschel’s work decades ago, Brueggemann’s Sabbath as Resistance, and many others. Are there Sabbath practices you find helpful? And again, I appreciate your emphasis on starting small and not taking on too much at once. But first, anything you’d want to say about the Sabbath in general?
SP: Sabbath, like listening, is scripturally commanded and culturally neglected among Christians. Many simply don’t observe it. Though in some places they do. I was recently in Ethiopia, where Sabbath is clearly honored. But in other places, like Hong Kong, pastors have told me it’s almost impossible.
In Silicon Valley, many workplaces expect seven-day availability. And of course there are more oppressive economic situations globally where people simply cannot take a full day of rest. For those in that position, I encourage at least noticing the Sabbath. I appreciate the Jewish framing — tying it to the movement of the earth and the sun. I begin my Sabbath when the sun sets on Saturday.
Radix: Interesting.
SP: And wherever people are, even if they have to work — which runs counter to Sabbath — they can still notice the sun going down. They can enter a posture of praising God for creation, for life, for Sabbath itself. And when the sun sets on Sunday evening, they can end the Sabbath in gratitude for that day of trying to keep God foremost in mind.
Some people take “Sabbath moments” during the week, which can be helpful. But I do think there’s wisdom, even commandment, in a full day of rest. I try not to work on Sabbath. I try not to slip into utilitarian thinking. When I ran a ministry connected to my church, that was hard; people would ask me about the work on Sundays, and I’d be tempted to dive into it. And even seemingly harmless things could pull me into utilitarian thinking. In my neighborhood, open houses were often on Sundays, and I enjoyed going — until I realized my mind was calculating home values, comparing them to my own. That’s not Sabbath keeping.
But there are things that feel like work to others that aren’t work for me. Gardening, for example, is very compatible with Sabbath in my life. Even going to the gym once was — it wasn’t about counting steps or minutes; it was simply free, playful movement. That can be Sabbath.
Radix: Mm-hmm. I like that you keep using the word “non-utilitarian.” In our culture, so much becomes “you do this so that…” Even relationships, even education. And it shouldn’t be that way. Some Christian groups even talk about prayer so that you get calm, or silence so that you become centered. But it isn’t a utility. There’s no “so that.” I appreciate that emphasis.
SP: And there were debates about this even in Roman times: some Romans thought observing Sabbath was fine because it made Jews work harder afterward! But as you say, that isn’t the point at all. It’s not “rest so that you can be more productive.”
Radix: I think it was Josef Pieper who wrote in Leisure, the Basis of Culture that it’s actually reversed — we don’t rest for work; we work so that we can truly live into Sunday, into that space of delight. It’s a reversal.
SP: Yes, I like that. Though I also think the other days of the week are good too: using our skills to support our families and contribute to the world. That’s worthwhile. But the way we attend to God during the week is different from what’s possible on Sabbath.
Radix: In terms of spiritual direction: some people might think of it primarily as being accountable to someone. And yes, that’s part of it. But it’s also much more — listening, learning to see differently, becoming attentive. What would you say to someone who thinks spiritual direction is just one more accountability task?
SP: I don’t think they would experience it that way at all if they tried it.
And there is a kind of accountability. Studies like Barna’s show that churches often offer teaching and small groups, but meaningful accountability is rare. In spiritual direction, because of the confidentiality and the one-on-one relationship, people are more willing to confess things to God in the presence of another — things they would never share in a church small group where they’ll see the same people next Sunday.
A spiritual director receives those confessions, witnesses them, and remembers them. And a director remembers the stories people tell about their experiences with God: those moments of encouragement, of guidance, even of correction. Most people forget their own spiritual stories, because we rarely tell them aloud. But the director holds them and brings them back when needed.
So yes, it’s a kind of accountability — but it’s the accountability of someone who remembers how God is moving in your life. It’s very different from a checklist or a teaching session.
Radix: That part about remembering is so interesting. All of us know what it’s like: we’re praying or out walking and suddenly recall, “Right, I had that thought… that sense… that nudge.” And then it’s gone again. Because we don’t have a natural way of remembering spiritual things — since they’re hard to concretize — sharing them with a spiritual director becomes a way of holding onto them. Recounting those moments lets us re-member them, put them back in view, and say, “Oh, right, I can be grateful for that,” or whatever. That seems so important.
SP: It’s a really important aspect of spiritual direction. Spiritual directors have a calling, training, and a charism for attending to these things. They remember because that’s what they’re oriented toward. In a long story, if a person says, “And I felt God nudging me…” and then keeps going, the director will gently return to that moment: “Let’s go back — tell me more about that nudge.” That’s part of the work.
Radix: For people who are unfamiliar with spiritual direction, are there misconceptions you run into that you’d want to clarify?
SP: One common Protestant concern is the idea that a director comes between the person and God. The term “director” can sound like someone telling you what God wants. But the “direction” is about directing attention — helping the directee notice where God might be moving. So, if a person mentions a nudge from God, the director helps them attend to it. That’s the primary misconception I encounter among people of faith.
There are also folks from certain Reformed traditions who question whether God speaks through anything other than Scripture. Every so often someone approaches me from that perspective. Since I wasn’t raised in that tradition, I don’t fully grasp it, especially since Scripture is full of people hearing God through many channels. But that concern does arise.
Some might see spiritual direction as self-indulgent — similar to how they view psychotherapy. My mother’s generation sometimes dismissed it as navel-gazing. But in our high-demand, materialist culture, taking one hour a month to talk honestly about your spiritual life is hardly self-indulgent. A healthy inner life is a gift to others and to the community.
What about you? Have you heard critiques of spiritual direction?
Radix: Honestly, in my circles it’s respected. As you said, some in the Reformed world are suspicious—but I know, as an example a very Reformed person, “hard boiled,” even, who very much respects it. It seems to depend on the particular community.
Some fundamentalist-leaning Christians worry about anything that steps outside Scripture. But in terms of accountability to God, to ourselves, and becoming healthier people, that objection feels misplaced. To me, at least. And like you said, our perspectives are limited. Even if we, as individuals, read the Bible faithfully, we’re still going to miss things. We need other people — wise people — to help us see what we can’t. Even with good self-reflection, we’re limited. You talk to a spiritual director or a trusted friend, and they say, “Have you considered this?” and suddenly things open up. The idea that we shouldn’t have that help is, to me, just silly.
SP: Yes. I’m so immersed in spiritual direction circles that I don’t hear the critiques often. But I do hear concerns from psychologists or psychotherapists who’ve gone through extensive training. They feel the preparation for spiritual direction can be too flimsy; and honestly, it has become thinner over time. Just as graduate programs in general have shortened, spiritual direction programs have had to adjust to economic realities: people must remain in the workforce and don’t have much disposable income for long, intensive training.
So when someone seeks a spiritual director, it’s important to see if the fit is good: Does this person help me listen to myself and to God? That’s the key. I’ve occasionally been between directors and tried meeting with someone new — once I went to a director who talked for 90% of the hour!
Radix: [Laughter]
SP: So that just wasn’t a good fit for me, though it might be perfect for someone else. The match really matters. It’s completely appropriate to ask a prospective spiritual director about their experience and training. You want someone who’s been formed in the practice and has some seasoning. Preferably someone who also has their own spiritual director.
Radix: Right.
SP: The reality is that we learn so much in any profession from the people who shaped us, don’t we. Teachers remember excellent teachers. Writers absorb the influence of great writers. And in spiritual direction, having our own director keeps us learning. Sometimes my director says something and I think, “That is such a wise way to respond.” It teaches me how to accompany others.
Radix: Relating to something a bit different. You’re in a position where you hear so much pain — difficulty, hardship, grief. How do you absorb all that and still maintain hope? How do you stay grounded and positive?
SP: Honestly, it helps me stay hopeful. The people I listen to are really good people. No one is required to seek spiritual direction — they do it because they want to orient toward God, open their hearts, and be channels of grace. Yes, they go through profound suffering. I currently have two directees who are approaching death, one far too young. Yet I learn from them. I’m actually refreshed by being with my directees, even when life is hard, because of who they are and the intimacy of the encounter.
We see this in the gospels. Jesus retreats when he’s exhausted by conflict: by pettiness, criticism, combative questions. But when someone comes to him with genuine need and real pain, like the Syrophoenician woman, he seems revived. Her faith refreshes him, and he returns to minister to the crowds.
When the engagement is authentic and God-seeking — even around deep suffering — it can be a blessing.
Radix: Interesting. Interesting.
SP: It is hard to see people crushed by systems of injustice. That can be draining and angering. But even then, I’m side by side with someone earnest and faithful. Even when they come saying they’re not sure they still believe — perhaps after something cataclysmic like the death of a child — the fact that they’re still coming to spiritual direction means some part of them is hoping God might be present in the midst of it.
Radix: Oh wow… the hope part is really moving.
SP: It is.
Radix: And to meet them there, you must need a certain vulnerability yourself — to see all that and still engage fully.
SP: Yes, I hope so. What can interfere is if I overload my schedule, if I haven’t done enough self-care or paced my days well. That’s when the openness becomes harder to maintain. But spiritual directors generally come with a very open-hearted posture toward the directee — even though we rarely share much from our own stories. We come ready to connect deeply.
Radix: Right. Thank you very much for that answer.
I like asking this question: If you were able to speak to a room full of pastors — and they had to listen to you with a smile on their face, because when we smile we’re usually more receptive — and given that pastors, even though maybe less than before, still have a huge amount of influence on how people think and feel… what would you want to tell them? It could be about spiritual direction or anything you’d want to say.
SP: Well, a lot of my directees are pastors. So I would hope that the pastors I’m speaking to have ways of cultivating their own relationship with God — possibly with a spiritual director. It’s very hard for a pastor to find a relationship that’s free of their pastoral role, where they can speak openly without worrying about how what they say might affect someone else’s faith.
So I’d hope they have that kind of friendship, or a spiritual director. And I would also encourage them to attend to the rootedness of their parishioners — in faith, in Scripture, but also in spiritual formation.
Many pastors keep referral lists for psychotherapists. I think they might also want to know who the spiritual directors in their area are, so they can point people there if that’s the need. Spiritual directors can also be very helpful to pastors, because many of the people who come to a pastor for counsel would actually benefit from spiritual direction. And that frees the pastor from a lot of that ongoing one-on-one work.
So that’s what I’d encourage: that they attend to their own souls, and that they help their congregations attend to theirs as well.
Radix: Right. Well, thank you very much for all of this. I’m sorry I talked a little bit too much. I hope you were able to express some of the things you think are important.
SP: I did. I’m grateful, Matthew. I like having the conversation with you and hearing what you’re thinking too.
Radix: Thank you very, very much. It’s always wonderful to talk with you.