Men rush towards complexity, but they yearn towards simplicity. They try to be kings; but they dream of being shepherds.

–G. K. Chesterton

It’s a ridiculously glorious sight: a chevron of a couple hundred sunfish parting the water as they move towards the pond dam. They’re coming en masse because they see me. Or they see my shadow. Or they see my car making its way across the pond dam towards the highway. I’ve been their shepherd for about 20 years, throwing out handfuls of food, treating the pond for all sorts of invasive weeds, and generally caring for them. I’m a fish shepherd.

It’s not long before they’re joined by the big boys of the pond: five 8 lb. catfish who simply open their mouths and vacuum the surface of the water, taking in pellets by the mouthfuls. And then the koi come, flashing their colors like banners. My grandson and I have named them all: Camo, Diesel, Angel, Sparkle, Pumpkin, and (Griff’s proud contribution!) Money Maker. They’re the jewels of the pond, and we shepherd them seriously. Each night as we stand at the pond’s edge flinging handfuls of pellets across the water, we ooh and ahh at how they’ve grown and how they look pretty magnificent when the sun hits them just so. And the bass? They’re shy, and we rarely see them. But we know they’re happily trolling the deeper water of the east end. We’re our fishes’ biggest fans, and we rue the day when the pond freezes over, and we can’t see them anymore.

Shepherding is a humble role fraught with the desire to protect and preserve. We’ve had our share of fish-kills after particularly rough winters. To see a 12 lb. grass carp floating on the surface in early spring is a sorry sight, indeed. But it’s a part of shepherding. In spite of your best efforts, you lose some. You may leave the 99 to go after a stray sheep–or fish–but it may not be enough. Still, a good shepherd makes the effort, always.

Turkish playwright, Mehmet Murat Ildan, writes: Shepherds know many mysterious languages; they speak the language of sheep and dogs, language of stars and skies, flowers and herbs. It’s a unique relationship between the shepherd and whatever or whomever is being shepherded, and good shepherds learn to speak the language of their charges. Griff and I may not literally speak “fish,” but we know where and when our fish like to be fed. We know how to ensure that that big fish don’t hog all the food. We know which koi travel together as partners and which travel solo. We like to think that we speak the language of our pond’s fish.

In the whole scheme of life, a pondful of sunfish, catfish, and koi may not seem all that important, just as a pasture full of sheep or a neighborhood full of people may seem small and relatively unimportant in the whole scheme of world affairs. But shepherding is an intimate venture, particularly local and often small. It’s true that good shepherds see the bigger picture: how their flock is but one of many flocks that make up the world. Still, their eyes are fixed firmly on their flock, whose well-being is their first and foremost concern. Above all, shepherding is an act of loving the singular and the particular, for each member of the flock is infinitely valuable.

As writer and philosopher, G. K. Chesterton contends, we often rush towards complexity and try to be kings. Humans are like that. We prioritize leadership and power. We think more is more, and complexity is progress. But at some point, there are always those who turn from the world and begin to dream smaller. Overwhelmed and saddened by power and complexity, they gather their flocks and begin to tend seriously to those about whom they care most: families, friends, neighbors, colleagues. This is shepherding at its finest, the type of shepherding upon which the world depends.

We read a lot about tribalism today, a term which has come to be associated with division, an “us vs. them” mentality, a group that closes ranks and excludes those not welcomed into particular political, religious, social, educational, or cultural tribes. Shepherding must not be confused with tribalism. That is, good shepherds generally care for a motley assortment of members. There are rebel sheep among their flocks, and they love and care for them just as they care for the other sheep. Griff and I may love the pond koi best, but we care for the other fish just the same. Jesus uses the parable of the lost sheep to tell us that the Kingdom of God is accessible to all, even those who stray and become lost. In this parable, the good shepherd risks all to go after one stray sheep. At the heart of shepherding is this type of devotion and conviction that each member of the flock–however wayward and rebellious–is worthy of rescue and love.

Every organization I’ve been a part of has held leadership training of some sort. Clearly, we need good leaders, individuals of integrity and wisdom who lead with clarity and compassion. But we need more shepherds. And we need good ones, individuals with humility and perseverance, empathy and love. This may not be a flashy position, nor does it often come with bonuses and stock options. It’s a vital position, though. I am a fish shepherd, but I hope to be an even better people shepherd. I’m aware that I can please my fish easily with a handful of pellets thrown strategically by the dock. Shepherding the people in my life is a more serious venture, one that deserves the very best I have to offer.