Holy Listening

Say More: At Last She Writes It No. 71 | October 2026

At Last She Said It

Oct 01, 2026

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by Susan Hinckley

My mom was curious about people.

Whether she knew you well or was meeting you for the first time, she’d ask, “Tell me about a day in your life. What does that look like?” She asked questions, and listened to their answers. She wanted to know, what is it like to be you?

You may have heard me say the ALSSI project has felt like the most meaningful work I’ve ever done. What I mean is I’ve experienced more concentrated personal growth in the past decade than I can remember at any other period. I’ve learned it’s a privilege to sit with women of diverse ages and experiences, to be offered so many sacred stories to hold.

Cynthia and I recently finished our CAC Living School study. Richard Rohr introduced me to Archimedes’ idea:

“Give me a place to stand and a lever long enough, and I will move the world.”

The yearlong course left me with a feeling that I am at the beginning of the work I want to do, not the end of it. In many ways, our podcast marked the culmination of one specific growth spurt in my life; to maintain my growing edge, it must also be the beginning of another.

Sometimes things conspire to get our attention, so I’ll also tell you that while recording our podcast conversation with Jenny Richards, I had what I can only describe as an experience. Her story of suddenly knowing—in the middle of the night—what she was supposed to do, was hypnotic for me. Or maybe electric? Whatever that feeling was, as she spoke I suddenly “knew” what I needed to do.

So of course I set to work formulating a thousand arguments against it.

Enter Richard Rohr—he’s managed to throw a whole toolbox of the best possible wrenches into my life over the years. This time, several months after the experience with Jenny, he set me on a search for what Archimedes’ words might mean in my own life. Before the CAC afterglow wore off, I wanted to take a concrete step. I set aside my thousand well-crafted arguments—

and enrolled in Spiritual Director training.

Now I always wanted to be the Mormon Anne Lamott, but the one thing I knew was that Mormons absolutely did not want an Anne Lamott. An irreverent writer chronicling her spiritual life that absolutely refuses to stay within the lines? (We’re good, thanks!)

But as I think about that, it occurs to me the only thing members of my church might want even less is a spiritual director. Someone who will light a candle, sit down and invite you to unpack even the murkiest corners of your heart with no judgment (and no testifying, GC talks, or Liahona articles) whatsoever? (Hard pass.)

Well, here’s the report from my first weekend of classes: five minutes in, I was blindsided by my own bawling. I thought, what is happening?!, then immediately knew I was feeling The Big Yes.

My church may not want spiritual directors, and its members may not know what to do with one, but no matter. It isn’t my certainty about where a road leads that makes it worth following.

I don’t know much about spiritual direction yet, but so far I’ve learned it basically boils down to one thing: holy listening.

And if there’s one thing I’ve often not felt as a Latter-day Saint woman, it’s that I’m being listened to. I could explain, but I bet I don’t need to.

Holy listening is described as:

A contemplative spiritual practice of giving another person your full, non-judgmental attention while trusting that God is present and active in the conversation.

It’s Jesus-listening. Think about the ratio of questions he asked to questions he answered. I believe the disparity between those two numbers is meant to get our attention: Asking and listening must be key to loving and understanding others. My mom knew something.

The holy listening of spiritual direction holds space for people to meet God, right in their own stories. It’s not about “directing” at all, but rather accompanying. In this practice there are always 3 chairs: one for the director, one for you, and one for the Spirit.

Now I might get a bishop who’s a great listener—maybe even a natural, intuitive spiritual director. In an interview, I would generally assume the Spirit to be present and active. But there’s a power differential that, for many members, privileges his inspiration over mine. His office makes him the official Spirit channel, because God is in the priesthood, and that mantle never rests on me.

Only once in my life did a bishop approach giving me a calling through curiosity about what it was like to be me. As a result, it became clear to him the calling was not a good fit at the time. I felt seen. Little wonder that remains my favorite interaction with a leader.

For most of my church life, I haven’t observed or experienced much holy listening among members. If someone raises an idea in a lesson—or even just a conversation—that’s (ahem) not on the approved list, how often are they met with, “Will you please say more?” Which explains why, when something thorny or even just complicated weighs on my soul or psyche, it can feel easier to keep it to myself.

And now we’re really getting to the point of this long introduction: Is anybody listening? How about asking? I mean up there, in the velvet chairs.

I’ll just say it: holy listening on the part of the church organization? Zip. Zero. Nada. At least it feels that way where I’m sitting. I know, it’s anthropomorphizing to suggest an organization could listen, but let me explain.

It’s never a 3-chair conversation: the Spirit is not assumed to be, first and foremost, on the members’ side in our church, but resides (along with the power) with whatever authority is speaking. Any disagreement I may feel, anything that hurts me, any offense I may take, will rest solely on me to resolve, and the Spirit won’t take my side.

There’s no 3rd chair needed when the Spirit is in the leader’s pocket.

If this sounds overly cynical, or even bitter, well—I’m feeling both those things. A few weeks ago, we had a pod conversation with Dr. Jana Riess about women leaving the Church. We wanted to put our heads together to explore and give airtime to some possible reasons behind the statistics. We pulled our ideas for that discussion from a pile of data: Our data was anecdotal, the result of years of messages from/conversations with women that have so often left us saying, “the women are not okay,” and Jana’s data was research data.

Recently I saw someone share that episode on her personal social media, where it was immediately batted back at her with an all-caps reply about the number of converts, punctuated with 3 words: STOP BEING NEGATIVE. I was sad, but not surprised. As I said, I don’t expect a lot of holy listening among members.

But I’ve been flummoxed—I don’t know a better word for it—by the Church’s response to the same data we referenced in that podcast. First, I saw a Church Newsroom post pushing back with:

“Across the globe, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is experiencing a season of spiritual vitality and growth. Official Church records show consistent worldwide increases in both membership and participation. We are encouraged by increased participation among our children, youth and young adults in the United States over the past decade.”

Then, the Deseret News published an article that, in my opinion, went way over the top trying to convince me all is well in Zion, especially for women. Apparently we have more marriage, more babies, less divorce, more overall happiness, and strong testimonies of every blessed thing (they were careful to include the priesthood).

In other words, who cares about that little statistic about young women leaving?

These rosy press releases may accurately describe membership trends overall—I am not privy to their sources. But I am allowed to raise questions when spin conflicts with the reports I receive from women themselves.

The source of my flummox-ment is not an organizational tap-dance around numbers. It’s that, in a church where we’re supposed to care about each other’s spiritual well-being, in the weeks since these stats about young women leaving came out I haven’t detected any official acknowledgment that there might be a problem.

No curiosity (no soul-searching about how we might improve).

No empathy (no sorrow expressed for the pain of others).

No focus groups (maybe there are, but then I wish someone would contact a few of the women of this community with an invitation—seems like it would be a good place to pick up participants).

As a Latter-day Saint woman, have you ever been asked by curious Church leaders, “Tell us about a Sunday in your life—what is it like to be you?” I haven’t.

I don’t think the Church is indifferent to any of the things we talked about with Jana Riess. I don’t think leaders are blind to women’s experiences. Blind-spotted, yes—we all have those. But these are well-educated men who can read statistics and project future impacts. And I think they care as disciples, not just on the level of running a business. But whether or not they do hardly matters, because a total lack of curiosity on the part of the organization—and many of its members—reads as not-caring. It’s a real, “don’t let the door hit you on the way out” vibe.

As a Latter-day Saint woman, have you ever been asked by curious Church leaders, “Tell us about a Sunday in your life—what is it like to be you?” I haven’t.

Is there any conversational room with 3 chairs in it, where I could sit with Church leadership, and they might engage in a little holy listening to some of what I have witnessed, felt, or experienced in 63 years of Latter-day Saint woman-ness? I’m not unique—setting aside my own experience, what about the thousands of messages from other LDS women?

Is there space for holy listening between members and leaders, where the Spirit can move freely on every side—soothing, inspiring, guiding questions, helping us glimpse each other’s hearts?

There’s some real pain among the women of this church. There just is. Not all women, but any is too many within the body of Christ. I can’t think of a justification for arguing with others’ pain.

We’re not alone in having our questions and concerns glossed over or waved off, but I’m focusing on women because Cynthia and I see and hear about it every day. Witnessing this pain is what fuels my desire to improve my skills now: I want to companion people in their spiritual lives with better language, but mostly with holier listening. I want to know what it’s like to be you … and you, and you. As a professed follower of Jesus, I want others to feel God’s love, not indifference.

I want to carry three metaphorical chairs with me wherever I go, creating a space where people feel safe to sit down. I believe any chance of finding God in our lives must reside in our own story.

I remember when Cynthia and I were interviewed on Richard Ostler’s podcast, and he asked us, “Does anyone from Salt Lake ever reach out to you to say thank you?” Then the 3 of us laughed—REALLY laughed—because of course not (they don’t thank him either, incidentally, and I believe they couldn’t thank him enough). Not that we want thanking, but in having our conversations and creating safe space for members to ask their own soul questions, set down hard things, and get curious about one another’s experiences, we’re doing work we wish the Church would do. It would help, and I know this because so many of you tell us every day that it does.

I believe every person—in or out of our church, and every other—longs for holy listening, and I’m counting on that being a skill that can be learned. Anyway, I’ll spend the next two years trying.