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—a longtime friend and co-worker—shares warm memories of Sharon: her personality, her gentle yet assertive approach to justice (including advocacy for women in ministry) and her ability to find hope and gratitude in challenges. Susan also reflects on Sharon’s passion for integrating faith and culture, especially through writing, her editing of Radix, and movie reviews, and on her lasting impact on friends, colleagues, and the broader community. What Susan shares is an inspiring glimpse into a life lived with purpose, grace, and a deep love for people.
Names mentioned:
Carla Siemens, Ruth Siemens, InterVarsity, Regent College, Francis Schaeffer, L’Abri, Jim Houston, Rita Houston, Carl Armerding, Betsy Armerding, Laurel Gasque, Ward Gasque, David Gill, Lucia Gill, Jack Sparks, Esther Sparks, David Fetcho, Susan Fetcho, Miriam Adeney, Michael Adeney, Walter Hearn, Ginny Hearn, Graduate Theological Union, Earl Palmer, The Chicago Declaration, David Swartz, F.F. Bruce, John Stott.
Radix: Thank you for doing this, Susan. I really appreciate it. There are so many things to be said of Sharon, I’m not sure exactly where to start! I’ll maybe begin with this, though: Sharon seemed to have such a unique personality. Some people are born with that, others develop it through experience. Do you think she always had that spark, or did it grow over the years?
Susan S. Phillips: After being at her memorial service last weekend and hearing her cousin Carla read from Sharon’s baby book, I’m convinced she always had it. And her mother clearly delighted in it. For example, when Sharon was about three, she would say her bedtime prayers with her parents. Along with praying for all the usual people, she would also pray for the bogeyman and the Big Bad Wolf—then look at her parents with wild eyes.
Radix: [Laughter]
SP: That was Sharon at three, and that was Sharon at sixty-three.
Radix: Mm-hmm.
SP: A couple of years later, when she was about five, she accepted Jesus into her heart. Then she turned to her parents and asked, “Well, what was in my heart before that?” From the start, she was a theological thinker—and a little subversive. Why only pray for the good people you love? Why not also pray for those who might be in need of prayer?
So much of what people loved about her was there from the beginning. She was deeply loved as a child. She was her parents’ only child—her father became very ill with MS and was partially paralyzed when she was young, so they couldn’t have more children. Her mother had a huge heart, and Sharon was the focus of all that love.
She also traveled with them. Her dad was an itinerant preacher for part of his life, so she was on the road, constantly meeting new people. Later, in her own career, she did the same thing—though virtually—interviewing people from all walks of life. I’d say that much of who she became was laid down in those early years.
She and I used to talk about how, while we didn’t always agree with our parents and sometimes thought they hadn’t handled things the best way, we both had the great gift of always knowing we were loved. Sharon always knew that. And she returned it.
I remember one year when she organized the entire Siemens family reunion—booking a conference center, arranging meals, all sorts of logistics that were not in her comfort zone—yet she labored to do it beautifully, simply to honor her parents. Carla mentioned at the memorial that after Sharon’s father, Sam, passed away about twenty years ago, Sharon phoned her mother every single night so she would have someone to talk to about her day. Sharon cared deeply for her, and for people, in general.
So, if you ask about influences on her life, I’d say her parents were the first and strongest. They were both steeped in scripture and had adventurous spirits. Sam never met a stranger—whether in a wheelchair talking to waiters, taxi drivers, or anyone he met, he engaged people and took an interest in their lives. Sharon inherited that wide-ranging curiosity. And her mother was the same way. Both parents were extroverted, while Sharon herself was more introverted, but she absorbed their love of people.
Radix: Okay.
SP: Sharon had a real love for people. At her service there were friends who had known her for fifty years or more. She welcomed new people easily, but she also sustained lifelong ties. One of her virtues was forgiveness—because if you want to keep long-term relationships, you need to be able to forgive. She was very good at that.
Another major influence was her aunt, Ruth Siemens—her mother’s sister. Ruth worked with InterVarsity, and also served as a missionary in South America and Spain. She never married, but traveled widely, teaching inductive Bible study in small groups. She had this bold vision of making biblical and theological education accessible to everyone. That deeply shaped Sharon. She was committed to opening theological conversations to all. With Radix, she wanted the best scholars to be heard by ordinary people, in language that anyone could engage with. That was also the vision of New College—like Regent College, a theological school for the laity. Regent eventually became a seminary, but it never lost that deep commitment to equipping laypeople.
Radix: Mm-hmm.
SP: Sharon became both an exemplar and an evangelist for the ministry of the laity.
As for communities, she was drawn to places that lived out that vision. After college she moved to Berkeley and connected with the Christian World Liberation Front. Before that, she had studied for a time at Francis Schaeffer’s L’Abri in Switzerland, a community built around theological imagination and applying scripture to everyday life.
She also took classes at Regent College and knew that community well. In fact, Laurel and Ward Gasque met her when she was still a teenager, and they loved her. She was serious-minded about what it meant to be a Christian in culture—in politics, in the arts—but she was also playful, with a great love of laughter, like Ward and Laurel.
Radix: Okay.
SP: So that friendship lasted a lifetime. She also connected deeply with Jim and Rita Houston, Carl and Betsy Armerding, and other Regent people who shared that commitment to theological education for all, and to thinking theologically about every dimension of life. The Berkeley community influenced her too: David and Lucia Gill, Jack and Susan Sparks, David and Susan Fetcho, the Adeneys, and the Hearns. Sharon was always at the table with them, participating in fellowship, meals, and gatherings.
Later, she joined First Presbyterian Church of Berkeley and became part of New College Berkeley. In the Graduate Theological Union she earned a master’s in theological studies from the Franciscans. That brought in Franciscan emphases to her vision—simple living, caring for creation, the Catholic preferential option for the poor. Those shaped Sharon deeply.
And she lived them out. She really did care for the earth. She avoided anything that harmed the ozone layer or polluted the environment. She paid attention to those things very deliberately, while continuing to live very simply.
Radix: Mm-hmm.
SP: Living in an environmentally conscious way can be more expensive.
Radix: Totally.
SP: She valued it enough to invest in it.
Another influence was Earl Palmer’s preaching. He was a long-time pastor at First Presbyterian Berkeley. After he moved on, we still brought him back for annual lectures at New College—full days of learning from Earl Palmer. Those seminars were highlights of the years for many of us. Sharon and I always looked forward to them. He was a magnificent biblical expositor, but in a way that spoke directly to people’s lives. Sharon admired that. Many of the writers for Radix shared that same approach.
Radix: In terms of her work at New College—she was there from 1994, serving in roles like associate director, essentially dean-level responsibilities, I think? What kind of things was she responsible for alongside you?
SP: She oversaw the structure of the program throughout the year, the flow of the curriculum, and much of the interaction with faculty and students. She supervised the registrar’s office, collaborated with me on development and grant writing, and cared for the board of trustees. She worked with development officers, handled student evaluations and grades—it was a small organization, so we all wore many hats.
Sharon was involved in almost every aspect of the organization’s life. I was usually the one engaging directly with trustees and foundations, but she co-wrote the grant proposals and made program reports at board meetings. At the same time, she was doing similar work for Radix—serving its board, preparing grant proposals, running meetings. I served on the Radix board for years, so I saw how well she carried that load too.
When New College joined the Graduate Theological Union, our titles shifted from president and dean to executive director and associate director. But her responsibilities were much the same—essentially the work of a dean.
Radix: And alongside all that administrative work, she was also writing. She’d been reviewing movies for a long time. I wonder if that interest partly came from Schaeffer—I remember listening as a kid to some old cassette tapes of him talking about movies, maybe Bergman, in such an earthy, accessible way. It struck me that this was pretty remarkable, seeing film engaged from a Christian perspective. Do you think Sharon’s passion for reviewing films grew out of something like that?
SP: In part. She also grew up in the Brethren tradition, where movies were prohibited. That background may have sharpened her curiosity.
Radix: Ah, right.
SP: She didn’t run off to become a dancer or anything like that, but she did develop a deep interest in film. She appreciated the artistry involved in storytelling, and she was especially drawn to movies that weren’t explicitly Christian but carried profound gospel resonances. She wanted to bring those to the attention of Radix readers—films they might never notice on their own, but from which they could benefit.
Radix: Do you know if Sharon was writing movie reviews before that was really common? Today we have lots of spaces where Christianity and pop culture intersect, but was she ahead of that trend?
SP: I think she was. I grew up Episcopalian, and in that tradition we went to the movies all the time. We even discussed them in Sunday school—what values were on display, what messages the stories carried. But in Sharon’s more conservative evangelical circles, there was much more suspicion of popular culture, and it was usually kept at arm’s length.
The Schaeffers countered that. They believed Christians should be in conversation with secular culture. Sharon completely agreed. I suspect she was with them the summer she graduated from college, which may have been just before she began writing her movie reviews. That could have been a strong influence from Francis Schaeffer.
Radix: On another topic, something younger people may not fully appreciate is what it was like for Sharon—and for you—navigating mostly male-dominated spheres. I have heard that she did it with so much grace. She didn’t just put up with it, but she handled it kindly, thoughtfully, even gently. Can you talk about how she did that?
SP: She did. Sharon really believed her calling was to love people with the love of Jesus—and also to work for justice. So she confronted sexism, racism, all the inequities that are talked about more openly now but are still very real. The income gap between men and women, or between people of color and white people—those systemic realities irritated her. She found it inappropriate for anyone to be treated as “less than,” and she knew Jesus would not condone that privileging of one race or gender.
So she quietly but firmly asserted herself in settings where she was often the only woman. In fact, she and I shared a kind of rule of thumb: if we were invited to contribute to an edited book or speak on a plenary panel, and we saw that we were the only women, that fact alone made us say yes.
Radix: She was one of the few female signers of the Chicago Declaration, right?
SP: Yes, and that was very significant. She was also one of the few women being interviewed among well-known male Christian leaders at the time. Sharon did have some private nicknames for people that were not flattering—I’ll never repeat them—but she had a definite view of things. She never took a victim stance, nor did she become antagonistic or forceful. She simply remained herself—gentle yet assertive. She was never aggressive, but she was assertive, not just for herself but for other women as well. She encouraged women to write and to teach.
When I was teaching at seminaries, I often had very bright women auditing classes who, in their churches, were only allowed to teach boys under a certain age. I would tell them about Sharon’s course at New College, Women in Biblical Perspective. Some of those women went on to take her class and eventually became pastors.
Radix: So she was very encouraging of women in ministry.
SP: Very much. She gave women a voice in the magazine and in her writing classes, but she also did it in a way that honored scripture—helping them see that it was perfectly legitimate to be in ministry.
Radix: Things are still not ideal. I remember talking with Laurel Gasque about this. She mentioned one man especially, I think it was F.F. Bruce, who treated her as an equal. When I asked if that meant others didn’t, she gave me this look that said, “No—I wasn’t always treated as an equal.” Was Sharon hopeful that things were changing?
SP: Yes, I think so. She also chose her church community. She chose to be with Earl Palmer, who was strongly supportive of women in ministry. Not all of her friends went that direction, but she was deliberate in her choice. She also noticed the inconsistencies. Some men who were publicly egalitarian could be privately chauvinistic. I remember she interviewed one very famous Christian man who claimed to support women, but he refused to share snacks with her. She wasn’t sure if it was sexism or classism, but she felt he treated her as lesser—unlike John Stott or Earl Palmer, who treated her as an equal.
Radix: Right.
SP: Sharon herself never treated anyone as lesser. She would talk with the person cleaning the bathrooms as readily as with the landlord. She had long conversations with a Jewish psychologist who rented space in our building, and with the Muslim landlord as well. She didn’t turn away from people of different faiths, and she had what you could call a preferential option for the poor.
Radix: Right, right. That’s actually a big deal.
SP: It is a big deal.
Radix: You’ve already mentioned quite a bit, but in terms of legacy—beyond New College, Radix, her patience, her kindness—what else comes to mind? If she’d had a child, what might they have said: “Mom was this, this, this”? What do you wish people knew about her that wasn’t obvious in her public persona?
SP: A couple of things she said often were really helpful to me, and I shared these at her memorial. One was when she and I would be complaining about someone—and enjoying it a little too much—she would stop and say, “Well, they’re probably no better than me and thee.”
Radix: [Laughter]
SP: And when we felt overwhelmed by problems, especially when people weren’t behaving the way we’d hoped, she would remind us: “Our job is to solve problems.” That reframing was so helpful. Instead of seeing problems as obstacles that kept us from doing our work, she helped us see that dealing with them was our work.
She also had a real emotional presence. She could be playful—breaking into song, doing imitations, slipping into an Irish brogue. She could get angry, though I didn’t see it often. And she was never maudlin or depressive. If she wept, it was more often the kind of tears that are related to witnessing moral beauty.
Also, just her acts of kindness. After conferences, we’d sit in our offices and talk about the small stories we’d witnessed. Not the headline moments, but something like a well-known speaker patiently giving time to someone in our community who could talk endlessly. We’d both choke up at the goodness of that. So often our tears were about that—witnessing goodness. And I suppose in her movie reviews, that’s exactly what she was doing: helping us notice grace and goodness.
Radix: That’s interesting, because it speaks of a kind of porousness of heart. She could appreciate the small things, not just the grand gestures. I love that she saw them, named them, and gave them weight. That’s really beautiful.
SP: It is.
Radix: Before we close, I want to ask about something you wrote about Sharon—the phrase “tough hope.” I think you may have mentioned it once before when I was around. It really struck me. To be hopeful, gracefully, even when circumstances don’t look good—that feels like a deeply Christian posture. I think God delights in that. The tough hope thing—could you say more?
SP: It was very helpful to me. She was such a hopeful person. And I’ve often thought that as Christians, we live at the intersection of gratitude and hope. I witnessed that in Sharon. She felt called to what she was doing at Radix and at New College. When things were difficult—when we didn’t know how we were going to meet payroll, including our own—she stayed faithful. She received only a small salary from Radix, most of her income was from New College, but she never started looking for other jobs.
Radix: Mm-hmm.
SP: For her, it was about calling. She was going to remain in that calling until God called her out of it. It was covenanted, not just contractual. I think that was the source of her hope: if God had called her into this, then God would continue to provide.
She was deeply prayerful, though never one to flaunt piety. You asked about her spiritual practices—she was not someone who talked about them. I can picture her laughing in a self-deprecating way if you’d asked directly. She might have said, “Oh, coffee in the morning,” and left it at that. She didn’t want people looking at her as an exemplar of piety; she wanted to direct others toward Jesus and the grace of the Holy Spirit—whether that came through a movie, a book, or someone she interviewed. She didn’t want the gaze on her as a model of Christian virtue.
But I did see her as a model of hope. As Carla said at the service, God is sovereign. God’s sovereignty was evident in all sorts of ways, big and small, in Sharon’s life. She would pray about the next issue of Radix, with no idea where the funding would come from, and then—unexpectedly—the money would arrive. That’s when she and I would sit and weep over the goodness of the person whom God had moved to give, just at the right time.
Radix: Mm-hmm.
SP: So—gratitude and hope.
Radix: Right, right. Thank you for sharing. Someone like Sharon—through New College, through Radix, and personally—must have influenced countless people. We can never really know how much good a person like that accomplishes. You could probably measure it more than most, but in truth, we can’t count the ripple effects. Someone who might never have stepped into a new direction suddenly thinks, “Yes, I could try this,” all because Sharon said yes to being kind, to helping, to pointing them toward something they hadn’t yet seen. We don’t know how many little seeds she planted, how many of her small yeses led to real change—maybe not always dramatic, but deep and lasting change in someone’s heart. And then that person touches others. It feels like a kingdom principle, really.
SP: The mustard seed comes to mind.