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The other night, my wife and I rented Tears of the Sun, a movie about commandos sent into an African country wracked by civil war to liberate a group of missionaries. The protagonist faces conflicting tensions between his orders and the hard-nosed commitment of the missionaries not to leave their work. The conflict intensifies when the commando leader purposely deceives his teammates with the rationale of fulfilling his orders. Soon, the ruse is revealed and the soldier is confronted by his conscience. He decides to choose truth, risk and relationship over blind obedience to regulations. He tells his men, “It’s been a long time since I’ve felt good about what I do. Let’s do something right for a change!”

The opening credits flash the timeless Edmund Burke quote, “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” That thought cocoons a recent conflict I encountered where a man confessed his desire to do something right.

Recently I was called to be an expert witness in a federal asylum case. A close friend from Pakistan, “Paul,” had appealed to the United States for protection. He had received a doctorate from a UK university and returned to Pakistan where he continued his work as an evangelist.

Paul, his wife and their team were distributing Bibles in a local bazaar. The unofficial religious police physically forced the team to shut down. This had happened before, but the next event had not. It was frighteningly real.

By cover of night, a man from the bazaar incident came to Paul’s house. “I’m risking my life by coming to tell you this,” he whispered, “but you are scheduled to be killed. And they will not stop with you. Your father, your brother and others will be killed, too. If you leave the country immediately, the threats against your family will stop. If you stay, many will die because of you.”

Paul and his wife prayed for wisdom. Leave and what happens to the ministry? Stay and risk the lives of others? God led them to leave. They scraped together a bag of clothes and all their savings, and left the country that night. Their most precious possession, their two-year-old daughter, had to be left behind. The farewell was wrenching.

Upon arriving on US soil, Paul sought help from a Christian attorney. For nearly a year, this godly advocate researched, worked, prayed and prepared a case all pro bono. Close to 5,000 pages of information were delivered to the judge prior to the trial.

On the day of the trial, this attorney told me that we faced a mountain. The federal judge handling the case had only recently been reinstated to the bench after a year-long suspension. After his divorce, he had married a woman whose residence status in the US was questionable. Since coming back, all asylum cases had been denied—including the case of a young woman who had come to Christ and whose father, a mullah, swore to kill her if she returned. Additionally, the court-appointed interpreter was a young Muslim from Pakistan.

I felt the tension mounting. The southern air was hot and thick that day in the small courtroom. When the judge called my name, my heart pumped loudly and my palms were sticky. I knew that what I said—or didn’t say—could send Paul back to Pakistan and certain death.

After hours of testimony on the conditions of Christians and converts in Pakistan, the reason and nature of the gospel, and missionary work, the judge locked eyes with me. “Young man, if you were in my place what would you do?”

I gulped the lump in my throat, “Your Honor?”

He clarified, “Tell me what you think I should do?”

“I would grant asylum,” I said with a confidence that came from the Spirit of God.

The judge retorted, “What if I don’t? What do you think would happen?”

My eyes shot downward and the emotion choked my reply, “My friend will die.”

“Young man, it’s obvious you are articulate and passionate about this. I have been moved by what you have said. I wish I had the time to hear more. Thank you.”

The judge turned his glance to the attorney arguing the government’s case against asylum. He asked, “How’s your heart? Aren’t you moved? Of course you have no objections! Do you?”

The attorney scratched his head, sighed, smiled and said, “No, your Honor.”

“Asylum granted!” With the crack of the gavel, the room erupted in cheers and tears flowed. Paul and I embraced as we openly wept.

The judge asked me to come to the bench, “Mr. Killgore, thank you for helping me do the right thing. Today has reminded me of why I became a judge.”

We know that for every Paul, there are thousands of other believers encountering even harsher persecution. But God has his people in places of leadership—attorneys, business leaders, government officials, and teams of prayer soldiers who are looking for the opportunity to do something right. As we continue to declare Christ’s glory among the nations, let us not grow weary and timid from witnessing the pain of suffering.

James Killgore is president and CEO of Advancing Churches in Missions Commitment (ACMC).