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AWord from the Editor: Andrew M. Seddon
Fish, Fog,
and Faith
The Life
and Writings
of A Modern
Saint
“What Christ demands is a
reasonable faith, as he demands the
service of our reason... We cannot
drift to Heaven like dead fish down
a stream.”
Wilfred Grenfell, M.D.
I was seventeen and living in New
Brunswick when a friend invited
me to go fishing in Newfoundland.
I was no fisherman, but I’d never
been to Newfoundland, so I
agreed. At St. Anthony, on the
Newfoundland’s northern tip, we
hiked, enjoyed the scenery, and
caught only a few trout. But more
importantly, I encountered the
living legacy of a man whose
writings still influence me.
Wilfred Grenfell was twenty-seven
when, in 1892, he arrived on the
bleak, forbidding Labrador coast.
The scattered fishing hamlets were
physically and spiritually miles
apart from the English resort town
of Parkgate where Grenfell was
born. As the son of an Anglican
clergyman, Grenfell could have
enjoyed a life of relative ease. But
he became a physician and chose
to labor in a backwater of the
British Empire, a place of poverty,
malnutrition, and disease.
Even though he was raised in a
Christian family, it wasn’t until he
attended a meeting held in London
by D.L. Moody, that he realized
that Christianity was more than a
social convention. Added to his
innate sense of adventure, this
realization resulted in his
commitment to make “a real effort
to do as I thought Christ would do
in my place as a doctor.”
Grenfell’s new-found faith
propelled him to forsake English
society for the company of
illiterate ‘liveyeres.’
For forty years he cruised the
rugged, uncharted Labrador
coastline in a series of small
hospital steamers, taking health
care and the Gospel places they
had never been. He braved
submerged rocks, fogs, icebergs,
and treacherous shores. In the
winter, he made rounds by
dogsled, daring blizzards, trackless
wastes, and dangerous ice floes.
He operated in makeshift
conditions on injuries and illnesses
for which no medical training
available in that era could have
prepared him. And many
occasions he did the only thing he
could—offered comfort to the
dying.
In time, others caught Grenfell’s
vision. Additional doctors and
nurses volunteered to join in the
work, and small hospitals were
constructed. Somehow, he found
the time to write—some thirty-five
books and many articles. Grenfell
literally worked himself to death;
the entire coast mourned his
passing in 1940.
Over the past twenty years I have
managed to collect the majority of
Grenfell’s books, most of which
are long out of print. But with the
changes in medicine and society
over the past one hundred years,
how can somebody like Wilfred
Grenfell speak to us today?
Grenfell emphasized the need for a
life where faith is made real by
works. Medical school taught him
“how infinitely more needed
[were] unselfish deeds than
orthodox words”—a sentiment
first stated by the apostle James
who said, “Show me your faith
without deeds, and I will show you
my faith by what I do.” (Jas.
2:18).
What mattered to Grenfell was not
the finer points of theology, but
human suffering—both physical
and spiritual—and what he could
do to ameliorate it. “Our life is a
field for experimenting in faith,”
he wrote. “It is not a museum
where we are on show or a bargain
counter where we get all we can
for the money.”
The Christian life should be one of
sacrificial love, for “only unselfish
love can win in the end.” Grenfell
lived a life of sacrifice freely—
almost unconsciously—embraced,
that he accepted as something
natural for the Christian. Sacrifice
was a privilege. “The conviction
that [the fishermen] needed what I
had to give and that it would not
be given if I refused the challenge,
was as plain as daylight,” he
wrote. “I have always believed
that the Good Samaritan went
across the road just because he
wanted to. I do not believe he felt
any sacrifice or fear in the matter.”
Grenfell believed that the
Christian message and life
incorporated not only preaching,
but outward expression and
practical involvement in the lives
of the needy. “Not even the most
humble ‘working man’ can live to
himself. Only a clam can do that.”
Christ involved himself in life, and
so should we. “Our Lord did not
spend much time speculating or
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