Appearances are deceiving, in case you hadn't thought about it lately.

I've recently been watching documentaries about the Middle East, about Israel and the persecuted church in places like Iran.

Missionaries are daily risking life and limb over in the middle of the world to spread the gospel, to take the light into the darkness. And it is incredibly powerful. I finish one of the films and sit back and ask myself: now what?

I want to do something; I just about want to soar overseas right this second.

Reality for the persecuted church is consciously reliant on God and beautifully dangerous. They have followed God on or onto an actual battlefield. They live among nations broken by nationlessness, among gas and bombs and gunfire. These people of the light must worship underground and sing huskily in hushed tones.

Here we can shout the name of Jesus from the rooftops.

And yet often we don't.

After a few days of mulling about the adventure of worshipping God in an underground bunker, I did not get a call to move to the Middle East, but I did feel convicted that there was patient action waiting to be done down under my nose.

God has work in America that is important too, though maybe it doesn't look as gnarly at first sight. The physical dangers aren't as high, but there are still souls lost right next door, right next desk.

We need to be inspired by the courage and sacrifice of the persecuted church and serve God like that wherever we are.

It's a different place with different people, but it's the same God calling us to lay down everything for Him.

I say I want to jump on a jet plane for Israel, but I'm not even willing to wash the dishes without complaining, not even willing to be inconvenienced for others, to speak the name of Jesus to strangers, or even friends.

Sacrifice starts here and now for us who have already given our lives, already been bought with the blood of Jesus Christ.

How blessed, how close to our Father could we draw, if we just obey?

If we just ask that question in the classroom, just show up for that friend, and shut out thoughts of self?

Here in America, it seems that our pursuit of comfort is more dangerous to our relationship with Christ than danger.

It's time we start acting like the ransomed and redeemed. Too often we still pretend that we are the masters of our fate, that we are calling the shots and creating ourselves.

In avoiding the hard places that we are called to, at home and on the mission field, we are sheep fleeing our shepherd and running towards the wolves. The safest place is with the shepherd because there will always be dangers. . . and because sheep are dumb.

Jesus calls Christians "Sheep Among Wolves." (the title of the documentary that I watched.)

That doesn't sound like an ideal position.

But His title has long been the Good Shepherd, who never leaves or forsakes.

So when people see the rather clueless sheep still living among the wolves out in this field, this rolling plain or a battlefield... they think.

We are a testament in our weakness, like little Israel still standing among giants, like David against Goliath.

It's not us. There's nothing special about us. Our life and strength come from our shepherd.

Shepherds aren't too holy looking, not too kingly looking, but again, appearances are deceiving.

The King of the Universe roamed His own planet in a dirty robe and beaten sandals.

It was the shepherds that He invited to be His welcoming party on that starry night. And more mind-blowing:

Jesus gave us the sheep an example to follow and shared our pain when He became a perfect sheep.

He became our spotless, sacrificial lamb.

Us sheep can't really think with that pea-sized brain, so let's start following.