My first spiritual director was Sister Catherine. I’d read about direction, and the only way I knew to find someone was to call the local Catholic center. Also, I figured a woman whose life is devoted to prayer has to be good one to learn from. Whatever your feelings about religious orders, they do a lot of praying, and I’m not going to knock that.
We met in her small office, filled of books and upholstered chairs—she an old woman in a navy dress and bulky cardigan, me a twenty-something freshly landed from living overseas, trying to sort out where life was headed. She would start each session by lighting a candle. “To remind us of the Holy Spirit’s presence,” she would say, as she blew out the match.
Then, she’d listen. Sometimes she would ask questions. We would usually pray. It was unexciting, and it was a monthly meeting I never missed. It kept me close to my desire to learn where God was leading me in ministry.
Sister Catherine was curious with me about my vocation, as she put it. It wasn’t a word I was used to, but it described exactly what I was seeking. I didn’t know which way to go or what life would look like for me back in the U.S.
What I remember most is that she was quiet and calm and listened closely. She wasn’t one to jump to conclusions or get carried away on a whim. She was a counterbalance to my propensity to run in all directions at once. She pointed me back toward God—the one she’d dedicated her life to serving in a quite tangible, thorough and irreversible way—and she knew what it was to do ministry over the long haul.
The name itself—“spiritual direction”—tends to give people the wrong idea. It evokes images of a wispy, Professor Trelawney type, here to offer wisdom and to see in ways the rest of us can’t. In truth, each of us can offer spiritual direction to the people around us if we learn to listen. But trained directors have spent a lot of time learning to do this without giving advice or judgements or comments one way or another, and therefore they can offer a space that most people cannot. Though I’m sure there are one or two people in your life who are fantastic about it.
If you’ve imagined a spiritual director as some kind of guru who will offer wisdom and guide your life, you will be disappointed (or relieved, perhaps).
Spiritual direction isn’t goals-oriented, as if we might walk in and say, “I’m here, and I want to be there.” You can say that, of course, but when we ask God how God feels about that plan, sometimes he says, “What if you stay put and get a little rest?” This throws people off. God tends to have different priorities than we do—WAY different—and it takes some time and patience to slow down enough even to notice.
Spiritual directors are not directive. They won’t tell you what to do, or give advice, or even tell you whether you are right or wrong. (Those of us who want straight answers find this incredibly annoying.) Their job is to pay attention with you to God. “Direction” implies we are headed somewhere, but the spiritual director is not the one leading the march. God is our true Director; we follow him together.
Some prefer terms like “spiritual companionship” or “spiritual friendship,” to communicate better what the relationship is like. I like this definition from Portland Seminary: “Spiritual direction is a relational process in which a trained spiritual guide listens to and companions someone who desires a deeper relationship with God. For Christians, this means becoming more like Jesus Christ.”
Put simply, a spiritual director is a person sitting with another person in the presence of God, as they both listen—to God and to the directee’s life. It’s a time to pay attention, for a short while, to what perhaps wasn’t apparent in the rush of things.
My director in North Carolina, Wendy, was a sage. In our first meeting, she told me to quit reading so much scripture. Actually, she didn’t say that—a good director wouldn’t. She just suggested that, given the season, I might be overdoing it and burning myself out and that sitting with a few passages the whole week might go farther. I didn’t listen of course, because it felt like I wasn’t doing enough. Which is, I think, a typical interaction. I tried to make it work the way I felt I should do things, then when my life was falling apart and I was exhausted and angry all the time, I decided it might be time to give up and start listening to the people telling me to slow down. I began to discover that gentleness and patience with oneself are hallmarks of the Christian life. I knew this not so much because the spiritual directors in my life told me, but because they had modeled it for years.
Or that might just be my journey.
Often, we think our tradition is the only way of being a Christian, perhaps because that’s all we’ve known. In fact, there is an entire world of Christian traditions (literally all over the planet) that are faithful and beautiful and offer some correctives to the weaknesses of American culture—weaknesses like extreme individualism. We value independence, and we see our faith as very personal and often private.
However, we are each on a journey with God, and we need companions along the way. Our friends, families and churches are essential communities. But spiritual directors have spent a great deal of time learning to walk with people through the sometimes-confusing journey of life with God. They are not experts; they are just people. But what they are expert at is refraining from jumping in too quickly with their own opinions (we call this listening). Once you start to experience what it’s like to be around someone like that, you will notice it doesn’t happen very often.
If you’re like me, you’ll crave it. Unless you don’t like weird silences. There will be weird silences—not for the purpose of being weird, just a lot of people aren’t used to gaps in conversation, where someone waits for them to finish processing their thoughts. Personally, I can’t get enough of it.
Let me tell you about one of my best sessions (I was the directee, to be clear. I have no idea if any of the sessions I’ve offered were spectacular): I was mad. I was ragingly mad. I’d been rip-things-up-throw-them-across-the-room-yell-into-the-ether-and-avoid-everyone mad for days. This is not exactly abnormal for me, but it was more sustained than usual. I told Summer, my current director. Five minutes in, she asked if I’d like to say anything to God about it. I started crying that moment, and I swear to you I kept going for the better part of forty-five minutes. I was grieving, I just hadn’t figured it out yet. I was able to—finally—cry because I knew she would let me. I knew she wasn’t going to say anything or interrupt or try to make it okay or for heaven’s sake reason with me. She made space for me, and I trusted her enough to take it.
Spiritual direction is a space where our theological questions quiet down as we learn to be in relationship with Love—the Love that created the universe. Faith is about a relationship, but sometimes we forget this because we live in a productivity- and achievement-oriented world. A spiritual director is a good reminder in the person of another human being that God isn’t interested in our getting things right. We are loved when we are not perfect or productive. This is something I will have to spend the rest of my life learning.
It’s hard to explain this practice. I’ve watched my directees two or three sessions in say, “Oh, now I get it!” I think you just have to give it a try. Most directors do a first meeting for free. And most will tell you to try a few directors, or try a few sessions with one, then evaluate. You aren’t signing your name in blood. You’re just finding a good friend who likes to listen to God, and who has practiced slowing down to make space for you.
If you want to find a director, do an internet search for directors in your area, contact your local seminary, or look at the listings on graftedlife.org or sdiworld.org. I have openings, and you can contact me on the “Spiritual Direction” page.
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