by Wissam Nasrallah

The recent conflict between Israel and Hezbollah has not only shaken the geopolitical landscape of the Middle East but also highlighted a structural shift in Christian missions: a growing reluctance to embrace risk on the mission field. Amid the sound of bombs falling on Beirut and the heart-wrenching stories of children traumatized by the constant barrage of explosions, many foreign Christian organizations took the difficult decision to withdraw their missionaries from Lebanon—sometimes against the missionaries’ own wishes. Local organizations, such as ABTS, similarly asked foreign workers to leave out of concern for their safety and the potential for the conflict to escalate along sectarian lines. Many missionaries, fearing they would become a burden on the communities hosting them, reluctantly complied.

While such a response is, under these circumstances, completely justifiable—especially when considering the physical and mental well-being of families and children—it illustrates a significant departure from the way missions were once viewed by both locals and foreigners.  As Caleb Hutcherson so poignantly reflected in his blog post “On Romanticizing Staying or Leaving Difficult Places” (ABTS Lebanon), there is no simple answer when it comes to such decisions. Each person has their own set of unique circumstances and priorities that cannot be compared to others, especially when young children are involved.

I write this reflection fully aware of my own privilege—living in a safe and comfortable environment in Lebanon, with the ability to leave if needed, a luxury not afforded to many Lebanese. I also recognize my own dire need to grow in this area, to live and love more sacrificially.

Therefore, the purpose of this blog is not to determine whether staying or leaving is the right choice, nor is it to guilt those who leave or pressure others to stay. Instead, it seeks to reflect beyond this specific crisis, on how, as organizations and individuals, locals and foreigners, our reduced tolerance for risk and the shift in priorities has changed how we engage in Kingdom work.

It is important to note that risk aversion is not limited to Christian missions but is a broader global trend and cultural phenomenon, as Nobel Prize-winning psychologist Daniel Kahneman highlights in his research. (This widespread caution is reflected in the fact that you can now purchase insurance policies for almost anything).

I see this shift reflected not only in our broader culture but also in my own family and Christian community. My mother, a nurse during the Lebanese Civil War, used to take enormous personal risks as she was dropped off at the hospital by my grandfather after her furlough, even when the area around the hospital was being shelled by the Syrian army. Today, she struggles with the fact that I drove to the Beirut Baptist School (located in the heart of Beirut) during the most recent war between Hezbollah and Israel, as the school was serving displaced families, even though the shelling was concentrated on neighboring Dahiyeh.

This pattern is also echoed in the broader church context. During the civil war, many Lebanese pastors insisted on opening their churches on Sundays, despite the high risks involved. In contrast, there are numerous examples today where Sunday services have been canceled due to even minor dangers.

Historically, missionaries and local church leaders embraced perilous and uncertain conditions as intrinsic to their calling. Mission work was not merely a task to complete but a lifelong commitment to a cause greater than oneself. This was evident in the lives of pioneers like William Carey, Hudson Taylor, and Adoniram Judson, whose profound sacrifices often came at great cost to their families. Closer to home, James Ragland, the first principal of Beirut Baptist School, exemplified this spirit of devotion. Even as the Christian population fled West Beirut, where the school was located, Ragland chose to stay. Despite the escalating dangers, he remained at great personal cost until he was eventually compelled to leave the country.

This is not to suggest that our predecessors were braver or reckless, or that we are a generation of cowards, nor to diminish the importance of missionary safety, family well-being, or the pursuit of better lives for local pastors and their families who choose to emigrate to the West. Neither is it to judge whether decisions to withdraw temporarily or leave permanently are right or wrong. Instead, it calls us to reflect on how we approach risks and how much cost we are willing to pay should we have a conviction regarding God’s call for our life. We should ask ourselves: What is our theology of risk? Where do we draw the line between acceptable and unacceptable risks? What drives our decision-making process? What biblical framework and Spirit-led discernment process are we using? What cultural biases influence us? In other terms, are we too cautious, or simply wiser? Were those before us more willing to pay a greater price for the gospel because they loved Jesus more than we do today? These questions should compel us, as seminaries and mission organizations, to reflect deeply on how we are equipping Christians to wrestle with such challenging questions today.

As we reflect on these issues, we must acknowledge that the nature of missions has evolved. While few may share the radical dedication of Adoniram Judson, many individuals who might not have considered missionary work in the past are now joining the mission field, driven by their technical or professional expertise—such as in program management, disaster response or teaching. Unlike traditional roles centered on church planting or evangelism, these positions often involve a different approach to risk, especially when a large part of their work can be done remotely and where a mature indigenous church already exists—an aspect that could be explored further in another discussion.

Furthermore, the apostle Paul shows us the importance of discernment when faced with challenging situations as he constantly evaluated the risks before him. Sometimes he escaped, like in Damascus or Thessalonica, but other times he willingly threw himself into the lion’s mouth against the advice of many. As John Piper puts it, there is a difference between “foolish risks” and “Christ-exalting risks”: “Both might cost you your life, but one will be pleasing to God, while the other will not” (Desiring God).

However, no matter what decision he made, Paul’s priorities were clear and his mindset was unshakable: “But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the gospel of the grace of God” (Acts 20:24). This brings to mind Jesus’ words in Luke 21:10-19 where He warns His followers that persecution, suffering, and even death will accompany their witness: “Then he said to them, ‘Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom… But before all this, they will lay their hands on you and persecute you… This will be your opportunity to bear witness.’” Seeing hardships as an opportunity to advance the gospel is exactly what Paul was explaining to the Philippians while he was imprisoned: “I want you to know, brothers, that what has happened to me has really served to advance the gospel, so that it has become known throughout the whole imperial guard and to all the rest that my imprisonment is for Christ” (Philippians 1:12-13).

I have often used the phrase, “The safest place is in the center of God’s will” to justify us staying in Lebanon. Yet, I have come to realize that while this is true, being in God’s will does not necessarily mean safety from trouble. A missionary in a Cambodian slum reflected on this quote, saying “Perhaps it’s time we realized that the safest place, physically speaking, is NOT in the center of God’s will. The center of God’s will may, in fact, be one of the wildest, most dangerous places you could imagine” (Relevant Magazine).

As Ian C.H. Prescott, a former missionary, writes in an article on this issue: “We need the courage and the guidance of the Spirit to know what risks to take and which ones to avoid as we seek to be faithful to that. If we are aware that it is right to risk for the cause of Christ, but do not do so, we may miss God’s purpose for our lives and might even waste them.” (OMF).

Additionally, any decision we make must consider the impact it has on local believers and those we are sharing the Gospel with, particularly people of other faith backgrounds. We wouldn’t want it to appear that we are asking them to take risks and bear sacrifices that we ourselves are unwilling to endure.

Following Jesus is, at its core, about taking risks and making life-altering decisions that often defy what our culture considers reasonable. At its essence, following Jesus means putting our trust in Him who has given us himself, even when the outcomes differ from our hopes or expectations. We can take risks with our lives and take risks on other people because we are assured of His love for us and because we believe in His sovereignty over our life…and death.

In conclusion, as individuals and faith communities called to participate in God’s redemptive work, our approach to assessing risk must differ from the world’s standards. We must articulate a theology of risk-taking in missions—one that acknowledges the hardships faced by families and individuals, employs Spirit-led discernment, and embraces the opportunities these challenges provide to advance the gospel. For it is often in the darkest moments that the light of Christ shines most brightly through His children. Such a theology must be rooted in an unwavering trust in God’s love and sovereignty, fully entrusting the outcome to Him.

Wissam is Chief Operations Officer at Thimar. His desire is to see God’s people walk in a manner worthy of the Lord and please Him in every way: bearing fruit in every good work and growing in the knowledge of God (Colossians 1:9-10). He will be assuming the role of President of ABTS on October 1st.