Words often fail me when I am asked to explain just what I mean by a ministry of spiritual companionship (or, as it is traditionally called, spiritual direction).  We no longer live in a faith-dominated societal context, although, for some of us, faith still defines our particular echo chamber existence.  But for many people I encounter who might, in the course of small talk, stumble into the discussion of my life and how I pass my days, words like spiritual direction, spiritual companionship, even spiritual friendship might seem strange and off-putting.

If we get past the initial shock, and they dare to ask — well, what do you mean by that — the language barrier only grows wider.  I might start to use words like, deep listening, and holding the safe container.  I know, I’ve lost many of you already — but give me a chance.

I think that, many of us, if we think about it for a moment, can imagine the practice of deep listening.  For some, it is something that only relationship earned through the intimacy of blood or experience can provide — mothers, fathers, siblings, beloveds.  Or, perhaps, for some, it is the one thing that family cannot provide.  But I do believe that most of us can at least imagine what it might feel like to listen to someone with your full attention, or what it might be like to be listened to in that way.

But, holding the container?  Seriously?  This is a favorite term in spiritual circles, and yes, we all get it, instantly.  But how to explain it to someone?  Do we even need to explain it?  I think that we do (or, at least, I need to try), because it represents one of the most unique features of the companioning relationship. It is so much more than the strong and faithful ear of a friend or a loved one.  So much more.

So, as I struggle with our human language which lacks sufficient dimension to serve as a tool to describe the action of the divine in this world, the only possibility that I could see is to speak from my own experience.  Because, you see, those of us who sit with others as helpers and companions also sit with someone (or, several someones) as the one seeking companionship.  And it is in that relationship that I often learn the most about this way of experiencing a deeper life.  It is in that relationship that I most often learn how better to sit with others.

I will never forget the day that I learned deep in my bones just what is meant by that phrase, holding the container.  Daily, it seemed to me, that I was struggling to function in even the most simple ways. Oh, it wouldn’t have looked like that to anyone else, but I was experiencing difficulty doing the things that feed me — I wasn’t reading much, except when I had to; I wasn’t planning much, except when I had to; and I certainly was not initiating any activity or choice on my own.  The clinical diagnosis might have been a mild depression, but for me, I recognized a spiritual malaise.  And, my experience of myself  was that that kind of malaise masked some belief or failure of belief that I could not articulate.

And so, I was not surprised when I chose to focus on this blockage in my next session with my director.  I was, however, surprised beyond belief with the words that came out of my mouth as together, we rolled the stone of that block away.  What I said that day is not important to our current discussion.  What is important is that, without someone helping me hold the container open, I would never have said them aloud.  Never.  Not in a million years.  Those words that held me prisoner would have just continued to rattle around in a much smaller container, namely my own head, and they would have continued to blind me from all the possibility and love that was in me and around me.  Alan Jones, the author of Exploring Spiritual Direction (and many other wonderful books), might say that that day, in that space of safety and trust, I was able to speak words of “strenuous honesty” about myself (11).  I would say that, only after years of experience with that container held wide, only then did I experience a true sense of grace and step into the space with my heart wide open.

Really, the idea of holding the container is shorthand for a much larger process.  Yes, the director must focus on holding the container, creating a space. But I, the person seeking companionship, must be willing to participate in that act of holding the door wide — a door, somewhere inside myself, that has been sealed shut by whatever forces have been at work in my life.  I must participate in the creation of that space by working, bit by bit, towards understanding.