The Third Chair: Sacred Presence in Spiritual Companionship

In spiritual direction, many companions speak of a “third chair” in the room—the unseen presence of the Sacred. This metaphor reminds us that sessions involve more than two human beings. Whether we name it as Spirit, God, the Divine, Mystery, Source, or Meaning, the “third chair” symbolizes the sacred current we invite into the space.

But what if there are more than three chairs? What if each person’s relationship with the Sacred—or their refusal of that language—deserves a seat of its own?

Students in the Spiritual Direction Certification program, where I teach, have explored this beautifully: some speak of a companion’s divine and an explorer’s divine—already making four chairs. Others remind us that energy may flow not as a seated figure at all, but as a field encompassing both seeker and companion. And animists, atheists, and polytheists offer yet more expansive imagery. The point is not to settle on one image, but to recognize that spiritual companionship is never a conversation of just two.

Three Heart-shaped chairs, by LuxXeon CC3.0

Naming Our Own Theology

One student put it plainly: before guiding others, we benefit from knowing our own theology. Grappling with “what we believe” lowers anxiety, gives us a steady foundation, and clarifies our fit with particular seekers. Our theology does not need to inform theirs, but knowing it helps us listen with integrity and humility.

Whose Sacred Is in the Room?

Sometimes the Sacred presence is experienced as shared—a single third chair for both companion and explorer. Other times, each brings their own relationship with Spirit or Source, making four chairs (or more). A polytheist might picture a gathering of deities; an atheist may see “what is meaningful” taking a seat; an animist may envision trees, stones, and ancestors joining.

An agnostic companion might hold space for 'the unknown mystery'; a Buddhist practitioner may sense interdependence itself as sacred presence; those from Indigenous traditions might acknowledge the land, ancestors, and spirits of place.

The metaphor stretches, but its heart remains: the sacred presence(s) invited into session deserve attention.

Mini Zen Garden, Photo by ROMAN ODINTSOV

Beyond the Chair

Not everyone relates to “chairs.” Some sense Spirit more as energy swirling about the room, as warmth, nudges, or sudden insights. A medical intuitive describes “synchronizing” with sacred energy, so the field encompasses all who are present. This echoes Thomas Merton’s reminder: “We discover an older unity … we are already one.”

For some, a physical object helps—a ceramic chair on the altar, a stone or candle beside the desk, a symbol of the divine on a companion’s computer table. For others, silence itself becomes the container where Spirit is noticed.

Promptings and Discernment

Spiritual companions sometimes experience what feels like “channeling” the Sacred: a phrase, question, or insight arises with a quality different from ordinary conversation. The tone may feel spacious, grounded, or infused with love. Other impulses—our opinions, reactivity, need to fix, or even friendly chatter—have a different texture.

Here, the third chair (or its equivalents) can serve as a tuning device. The presence of a candle, stone, or empty chair reminds us to pause and notice: what is the source of this nudge? Does it feel like a sacred prompting, or something else? Learning to sense the difference is part of the art of spiritual companionship.

Crow in Chair by Louise LeGresley CC2.0

Try It

• Place a symbolic “third chair” in your space (a chair, a candle, a stone). Before each session, acknowledge the Sacred presence it represents.

• If you don’t resonate with the chair metaphor, try sensing the energy field around you and your seeker. How might Spirit be present there?

• If physical objects don't work for you, try setting an intention, creating a mental space, or using sound/music to acknowledge sacred presence.

• After a session, reflect: When did you feel you were speaking from Sacred prompting? When were you offering personal opinion, reactivity, or friendly conversation? How could you tell?

Beloved, you are whole, holy, and worthy,
Rev. Amy
Companioning soul-weary change-makers becoming rooted, aligned, and alive again.

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For Further Reading

• The Heart of Spiritual Direction – Introduces the foundations of spiritual direction, highlighting presence, sacred listening, and the call to honor seekers as whole and holy.
https://abeltaine.blogspot.com/2025/02/the-heart-of-spiritual-direction.html

• Ethical Spiritual Tending: A Foundation of Trust and Integrity – Explores how sacred listening, ethical guidelines, and mutual agreements support trust and autonomy.
https://abeltaine.blogspot.com/2025/02/ethical-spiritual-tending-foundation-of.html

• Decolonizing Spiritual Direction: Honoring Lineage, Resisting Appropriation – Examines how spiritual direction can resist colonial patterns and cultural appropriation, encouraging companions to honor source traditions and uplift marginalized voices.
https://abeltaine.blogspot.com/2025/03/decolonizing-spiritual-direction.html

• Three Chairs Spiritual Direction – Introduces the original “third chair” concept.
http://www.threechairsspiritualdirection.com/why-three-chairs.html

• SDI: The Importance of Taking Off Your Hat – A reflection on humility, presence, and the sacred in companionship.
https://www.sdicompanions.org/the-importance-of-taking-off-your-hat-while-offering-spiritual-companionship/

Beloved, you are whole, holy, and worthy,
Rev. Amy
Companioning soul-weary change-makers becoming rooted, aligned, and alive again.

We Are the Help: A Modern Parable of Divine Action

We Are the Rescue: A Modern Parable of Divine Action

You know the story. The floodwaters are rising, and a faithful person sits on their roof, refusing rescue after rescue. "God will save me," they insist to the Jeep driver, the canoe paddlers, the helicopter pilot. When they arrive in heaven and ask why God didn't save them, the divine response comes: "I sent you a Jeep, a canoe, and a helicopter."

We tell this parable to remind ourselves to recognize divine action in human hands, to accept help when it's offered, to stop waiting for supernatural intervention when real, tangible rescue is right in front of us.

But recently, in conversation with someone wrestling with the weight of our current moment, this familiar story flipped on its head. What if we ask a different question: Who was driving that Jeep? Who was paddling that canoe? Who was piloting that helicopter?

We were.

Flood, New Hartford, IA June 9 2008, The U.S. National Archives

The Flood Is Upon the Rescuers Too

Here's what the traditional telling doesn't acknowledge: the people showing up to help aren't standing on dry ground. The Jeep driver is navigating rising waters. The canoe paddlers are in the flood themselves, choosing to use their vessel to reach someone else. The helicopter pilot is flying through the storm.

We are all in this flood together. And somehow, miraculously, divinely, we keep showing up for each other anyway.

This reframe transforms everything about how we understand our role in the world's current crises. We're not just called to accept help when the divine sends it through human hands—we're called to be those hands, even when we're struggling to keep our own heads above water.

Sacred Responsibility in Hard Times

When we flip the parable this way, it reveals something profound about divine action and human responsibility. If we are the hands and feet of the divine in this world, then our showing up for each other isn't just good citizenship or moral duty—it's sacred work.

The person driving through flood zones to check on neighbors isn't just being helpful; they're participating in divine rescue. The community organizer working to protect vulnerable populations isn't just doing politics; they're engaging in holy work. The minister crafting messages about love and commitment when everything feels overwhelming isn't just doing their job; they're serving as a conduit for divine possibility.

But here's the thing that makes this both beautiful and heartbreaking: we're doing this sacred work while we're also the ones who need rescuing.

The Joy and Weight of Being Divine Agents

This understanding carries both tremendous weight and unexpected lightness. The weight comes from recognizing that if we are the divine rescue that shows up for others, then the work really is up to us. We can't wait for someone else to fix what's broken. We are the someone else.

But the lightness—and this is crucial—comes from remembering that we don't have to do this work alone, and we don't have to do it without joy.

Maybe I don't have a jeep, but I have a song to sing while you paddle the canoe. Maybe I don't have a helicopter, but I have a friend who has a friend who lives near the airfield (and I'm not afraid to ask.)

Even in the flood, there can be connection. Even in crisis, there can be moments of beauty. Even when we're rescuing others, we can experience the profound satisfaction of being part of something larger than ourselves, of participating in divine action in the world.

Rescue Personnel respond to Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans, LA. Combined Military Service Digital Photographic Files

Recognizing the Sacred in Small Acts

If we're looking for the divine in human rescue efforts, we need to expand our definition of what rescue looks like. It's not just the dramatic helicopter moments. It's also:

• The pure joy of pushing a four-year-old grandchild in a swing, creating a moment of delight that ripples beyond just the two of you
• Witnessing the small miracle of strangers greeting each other warmly in an airport waiting area, choosing connection over isolation
• The decision to do your specific work—developing learning materials for students, writing about love and commitment rather than contributing to despair factories—instead of getting pulled into internet debates or other energy drains
• The practice of celebrating completion with something as simple as a joyful checkmark in the air, acknowledging your efforts whether the task was distasteful or routine
• Offering a guest room in a safe place for people who need one for a while
• The choice to show up authentically in small daily interactions

These small acts of showing up are divine rescue operations happening all around us, carried out by people who are themselves in need of rescue.

Sea Rescue, Wellington, NZ CC2.0

We Are Called to Be the Canoe

The traditional flood parable asks us to recognize divine help when it comes. But the flipped version calls us to something more demanding and more beautiful: to be the help that comes, to be the divine presence that shows up for others, to be willing to get in our canoe and paddle toward someone who's struggling, even though we're in the flood too.

This doesn't mean we have to be saviors or that everything depends on us. It means we're part of a vast network of divine action, a web of people showing up for each other in small and large ways, each of us both giving and receiving rescue.

In these times that feel so overwhelming, so impossible, this reframing offers both challenge and comfort. Yes, the work is ours to do. But no, we don't do it alone. We are simultaneously the drowning and the rescue, the lost and the found, the ones who need saving and the ones who show up to save.

The flood is upon us all. And we keep reaching for each other anyway. If that's not divine action, I don't know what is.

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What rescue are you being called to offer today? What help are you being called to accept? Sometimes we are the Jeep, sometimes we are the person on the roof, and sometimes we are both at once.

Beloved,

You are whole, holy, and worthy

Rev. Amy Beltaine

(http://amybeltaine.info)