Farewell Nova Scotia, the sea-bound coast

Farewell to Nova Scotia, the sea-bound coast
Let your mountains dark and dreary be
And when I am far away on the briny oceans tossed
Will you ever heave a sigh and a wish for me?

Any Maritimer worth their salt is humming along right now to this song, the de facto anthem for Nova Scotia (sorry Barrett’s Privateers fans, but it’s not even close). Like all good songs, Farewell to Nova Scotia has existed in several forms over the centuries, originating in Scotland, though you could be forgiven for thinking Stan Rogers, Anne Murray, Gordon Lightfoot or the Celtic-sodden Irish Rovers wrote the tune, they all sing it with such a familiarity and authenticity. But for this wayward Haligonian boy, I only ever hear the song through Big Jim’s baritone over a strummed guitar on the banks of the Northumberland strait. Around the campfire at Camp Geddie, even adolescent silliness would quiet if our counsellor Big Jim sang this song. The first time my parents drove me home from camp, I sang Farewell to Nova Scotia like I was Big Jim (minus his voice and guitar) for the entire two hours stopping only to cry about the new friends I would miss and to order from the A&W drive-in (not drive thru, it was the drive-up-and-get-root-beer-in-a-glass-mug days).   

I’m singing that song today but not so much with fond memories as with raw grief for the scourge of violence that ripped across my Nova Scotia home this weekend. One shooter, 12 hours, 16 crime scenes, 19 people dead. I wish I could say this is completely unimaginable, but while unusual for Canada, North Americans know too well the feelings of disgust and sadness that rise up when there is another report of a mass shooting. Of all that 2020 has witnessed, add, so far, 55 mass shootings in the US and almost twelve thousand gun related deaths. Here’s a very sobering website should you want more details https://www.gunviolencearchive.org 

What can we say then if not this latest shooting is unimaginable? Could we say that we just don't understand it? That feels closer to the truth, but it feels like a kind of luxury too. We can understand that access to guns leads to more gun violence. We can understand that there is an utter dearth of mental health services even in what my American friends mistakenly think of as the magical medical land of Canada. We can understand that how we treat each other matters. Already stories of the shooter’s social isolation as a young man are surfacing. But understanding doesn’t always bring complete insight, acceptance or action, and it all feels like cold comfort just now.

Today I can only keep singing, stopping only to cry for old friends and a far away home. When I get to the lines But a poor and simple sailor just like me, must be tossed and turned on the deep, dark sea, I’ll sing it as lament. A prayer that God would hear our cries, see our tears and grant us mercy in our pain and courage for a new day and way to live together, wherever we call home.