HDS alumna Rev. Cynthia L. G. Kane is a peace-loving pacifist and Unitarian Universalist minister. She is also a Lieutenant Commander in the Chaplain Corps of the United States Navy.
As we celebrate Veterans Day on November 11 and honor those who risk their lives to protect our country, HDS caught up with Kane to find out more about her ministry in the Navy and why serving others is a key to happiness.
HDS: Have you been serving as a Navy Chaplain since receiving an MDiv degree in 1996? Where have your travels with the Navy taken you?
CK: I was scheduled to attend Naval Chaplaincy School and Center in June 1996, directly upon graduating from HDS. Those plans were scuttled by a scene straight from an ABC Movie of the Week: me, an eager 28-year-old soon to embark upon her career, waiting for the results of tests done on what appeared to be a cyst, then sitting frozen as my doctor pronounced the words "non-Hodgkin's lymphoma." So, after graduation, instead of reporting to chaplaincy school, I reported for chemo and radiation for two years.
After being cleared, I continued pursuing naval chaplaincy. Finally, in August 2001, I was commissioned, and I attended chaplaincy school in January 2002. As of 2014, I am 18 years cancer-free and 13 years into a career that I wouldn't change for anything.
My first assignment (2002-04) was in metropolitan Washington, D.C. I served at a naval base in Indian Head, Maryland, and the Marine Chemical Biological Incident Response Force Unit stationed there. I also performed services at Arlington National Cemetery.
From 2004 to 2006, I served aboard the aircraft carrier USS John C. Stennis. This was less exotic than you might expect, since the carrier was in dry dock at her home port in Washington State. During that time I was also sent to the Joint Detention Center in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba—an assignment equally challenging and rewarding.
Following that, I led programs and retreats on marriage enrichment, spiritual growth, and personal resilience in San Diego. From there, I served as the chaplain for Coast Guard Sector-Northern New England, in Portland, Maine, then returned to San Diego, where I received a master's degree in peace and justice studies.
I now serve a Marine Combat Logistic Battalion in Kaneohe, Hawaii. Every morning, my meditation walk on the beach reminds me what a blessing naval service is.
HDS: When you were on campus in 2008, you described yourself as a peace-loving pacifist. So, why did you choose to enter the military? Was there an experience you had while a student at HDS that influenced that decision?
CK: I first experienced the call to ministry when I was eight years old, in a moment that felt like a flash of recognition. While I was in sitting in the pews during a Sunday morning worship service, I saw myself on the chancel, behind the pulpit, staring out at the congregation. Despite the utter illogic of it all—it seemed inconceivable that this skateboarding tomboy who played drums would ever end up as a minister—I felt that someday, in fact, I would be that person on the chancel. Those moments of calling repeated themselves and matured.
In 1985, my then-boyfriend and I were driving from New Orleans (where we were in college), to Panama City, Florida, where he lived. On the way we stopped at the naval base in Pensacola, Florida, to visit a classmate who also was in Tulane's ROTC program. As soon as I stepped on base—my first time ever on a military installation—I had another powerful moment of recognition: The military is where I am supposed to be.
It wasn’t, however, as simple as just joining the Navy and being a chaplain. There is nothing simple about being a peace-loving, conscientiously pacifist who finds herself called to military ministry! But when I have felt a call, I know to follow it and to surrender myself to where it leads.
After the Pensacola trip, I contacted a recruiter, who gently pointed me toward divinity school. After college, I attended HDS. It was at the Divinity School where I found my way to Unitarian Universalism, and I realized that this was the faith tradition from which I was meant to minister.
HDS: How did you wind up working with Marines in Hawaii? And what does a day in the life of a military chaplain look like?
CK: As a Navy chaplain, I serve all the sea services: Coast Guard, Marine Corps, and Navy. This is my second Marine tour. Like most Navy chaplains, I love serving the Marines! Then again, I love being with the Coast Guard and the Navy, too.
The job of a Navy chaplain is four-fold. First, we provide, which means we minister directly to service members of our own faith. (There are relatively few service members who identify as UU, though I consider the "nones," humanists, atheists, agnostics, and "spiritual but not religious" to be mine.)
Second, we facilitate faith-based resources for those to whom we cannot directly minister. So, for instance, when a Roman Catholic Marine was going through a divorce and needed confession, I arranged for a priest to meet with him.
Third, we care for all service members no matter their faith tradition. One of my Marines recently received an AMCROSS message—a message from the American Red Cross notifying him of his mother’s death. I delivered the news to him, held him while he cried, and accompanied him along his next steps. That kind of care is nondenominational at its root. That is pure love and compassion.
Finally, we advise up and down the chain of command. As a military chaplain, I enjoy 100 percent confidentiality in my pastoral relationships, which is a powerful thing. Even if a service member confesses intent to do harm to self or others, I cannot violate that pastoral bond, and service members know it. That means they come to me with some of the most searing and difficult issues imaginable, and it means that I often have more access to the "real story" of what's happening on base than many commanding officers (CO), investigators, lawyers, and counselors do.
So, how this relates to advisement? One day a Marine came into my office and described a hazing incident. Later that week, a second Marine from a different section came to see me and described a similar story. Then a third Marine. After the third, I thought these three incidents might be the tip of an iceberg, so I brought it to my CO.
When I went to my CO, all I had to say was: "I think there might be a problem with hazing in the battalion." That was it. No examples of the incidents. No details that might compromise identities. Nothing. As soon as that sentence was out of my mouth, he was on the phone coordinating with his subordinates and ensuring that anti-hazing policies were reinforced and company commanders and senior enlisted advisers monitored their Marines more closely on this issue.
As for a typical workday: there is no typical workday. Usually it depends on the assignment. At present, I start my day before sunrise with 30 to 60 minutes of meditation and prayer. At work, I’ll spend four to five hours a day in counseling, an hour in physical training, and an hour on administrative tasks. Most important, I'll spend one to two hours each day devoted to what’s called "deckplate" or "WAB" (walking around the battalion).
Deckplate/WAB is really the key. That's when I get a sense of dynamics in the unit, and it's how I get to know my Marines and sailors. Forging connections before a crisis happens is vital to any institutional ministry. It's particularly vital in the military, where we are working with a young adult population with strong codes of masculinity. For them to reach out to me, they have to be comfortable. Getting to know them before the crisis strikes is the heart of my job.
HDS: You mentioned that when it was announced during your HDS Commencement that you were going to pursue chaplaincy in the U.S. Navy, there was a collective gasp from the audience. Why do you think that was, and do you have any sense that it's shifted now that more campuses, including Harvard, have welcomed back ROTC programs since repeal of the "Don't Ask, Don’t Tell" law?
CK: It was a challenge for many Unitarian Universalists to understand my call to military ministry. Some would assert that the only role for a spiritual guide in the midst of war is to call on combatants to lay down their arms and seek peace.
Yet, it’s important to consider what it means for the United States to have an all-volunteer service. The majority of enlisted are young adults who find that most roads to the "American Dream" are closed to them. For many who join the military, college is out of reach, and work available to high school graduates is a dirt path that doesn’t necessarily merge onto the road to the American Dream.
Many of my Marines and sailors come from chaotic families, neighborhoods, and/or schools. They are seeking a safe, orderly environment, a place where the rules are clear and where they can do their part with honor. Keeping this background in sight is important to understanding our current military.
I love academia, and I have boundless respect for the HDS community. My big question is not how prestigious campuses such as my fair Harvard view the military, or even how HDS colleagues view my call and the work I do. My question is: Why would anyone want to restrict the kinds and types of ministerial presence available to a "congregation" such as this?
I minister to people. I don't minister to military policy. I minister to individual service members who are doing what they believe is right for themselves, their families, and their nation. Increasing numbers of service members identify as "nones" or NRPs (no religious preference). Increasing numbers are out as gay and lesbian. And increasing numbers are women. Why not have their choice of chaplains include those of us who are not conservative representatives of the Abrahamic faith traditions whose views (we assume) align more easily with military culture?
More often than not, I am the chaplain Marines, sailors, and their dependents come to discuss incidences of sexual assault. I also am the only one on the island whose religious tradition allows me to counsel same-sex couples and perform same-sex marriages. No matter who someone is or what their concerns are, my job is reminding my Marines, sailors, and family members that ours is a benevolent universe, and that we belong to it and it belongs to us.
I make things more human for my Marines and sailors, and they make things more human for me. That is fellowship; that is communion. Why not here of all places? Unitarian Universalists should be the first to understand that Spirit is everywhere.
HDS: What is the single biggest challenge you face as a military chaplain?
CK: For me, that's not hard to answer: Being a peace-loving, conscientiously-objecting pacifist. I try to honor the complexity of my role and my position. I think of it as being a peace "mole"—a sort of turner of fresh earth, more than a spy.
I focus on the fellowship, companionship, and important ministry work I get to do with amazing young adults. But that doesn't mean it's always easy. There are times that I feel like a cog in the military industrial complex. There are times I feel misunderstood by both the military community and the UU community. But it is possible to build bridges. It's all about relationships and small steps. There is just no way around that.
One professionally gratifying moment happened very early in my chaplain corps career. My primary instructor at the Naval Chaplaincy School—a rather intimidating senior ranking Navy chaplain who was a really conservative Southern Baptist and drove a pickup truck with a gun rack back home—said to me at graduation: "Chaplain Kane, I do know you’re a tree hugger and I don't know what a UU is, but I think we oughta keep you."
Other challenges become apparent as I get older. There's a certain way age makes me look at mortality more squarely than even cancer did. And I'm a mom now, which changes things. I go on CACO calls, which is when I accompany a uniformed Navy representative to inform a family member or next-of-kin about the casualty of their loved one. This is one of my most sacred duties, and I would never want to opt out of it. Being there is so important, but with parenthood and age, the loss of young lives becomes increasingly intolerable. I get nauseated every time I approach the front door.
HDS: As a chaplain in the armed services, you kind of “serve double” (you serve the people who serve). What is the most rewarding aspect of your work?
CK: Your question relates well to aging, because the older I get, the more I realize serving others defines the quality of our lives. The Dalai Lama says: "If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy yourself, practice compassion." That could just as easily be: "If you want others to be happy, serve others. If you want to be happy yourself, serve others."
Right now, I'm serving with Marines, so I am surrounded by fit young adults who are clean-shaven, well-groomed, and as fond of filthy humor as one might expect a bunch of young adults (mostly male) who are living on their own for the first time to be. Yet they're also some of the kindest, most thoughtful, best-mannered young men and women anywhere. These Marines and sailors are utterly devoted to completing their missions and bringing each other home safe, whether from a war zone, or a zone of devastation following a natural disaster.
I value my peacenik, hippieish heritage. Though in the world of intellectual endeavor and political protest, there's a tendency toward terminal uniqueness: defining ourselves in the singularity of our thoughts, opinions, and tastes. In military culture, we define ourselves by our ability to be the same to some extent: to pull together and act as one.
Thanks to the remarkable men and women I serve, I know, on a daily basis, what that feels like to be part of something bigger than myself. So do my Marines and sailors, and our guardians, soldiers, and airmen and airwomen. No matter one's goal or mission, this is the essence of service: allowing the quest for uniqueness to cede to the uniquely beautiful quest for a common good.
—by Jonathan Beasley