Twice over the past few days I've had conversations with committed Christians that both amazed and disturbed me.

Each time I was told that it would be good if President Assad manages to crush the rebels who are fighting so bravely against the forces of the Syrian state.

I hadn't given much thought to the consequences of a victory for the rebels, or what might happen if Syria descends into a full-scale civil war. But I had assumed that any decent human being would have been appalled by the ferocity with which the Syrian state is attempting to crush the revolt.

What I was told, in these two chats with people I respect, is that if the rebels prevail and the Assad regime collapses, life will certainly become intolerable for Christians in Syria. A hard-line Islamic state would emerge, and Christians would be at best marginalised, at worse persecuted. I was uneasy, partly because the implication was that it is acceptable for Christians to be protected by what is a manifestly odious regime.

It is certainly true that in both Iraq and Egypt the toppling of dictators has led to very bad times for Christians. Indeed many thousands of them, possibly hundreds of thousands, have had to flee from both countries.

And it is also true that all over the world, Christianity is under attack. Here in western Europe it is under attack from the forces of secularism and aggressive atheism. Elsewhere, for instance in northern Nigeria, it is under much more alarming attack of a most brutal and vicious nature.

In many countries there is persistent, state-backed anti-Christianity. In Saudi Arabia, a long-time ally of the UK, the penalty for converting to Christianity is death. Few outsiders know what is going on in North Korea, but there are reputedly around 250,000 people imprisoned in horrific labour camps – simply for professing Christianity.

And yet Christianity is by far the world's largest religion, with well over two billion adherents – coming on for a third of the entire global population. In many parts of our planet, Christianity is still growing fast, particularly where Pentecostal versions of the religion, both Catholic and Protestant, are to the fore.

Despite this numerical strength, Christianity does not seem to know how to defend itself. There seems, in the West anyway, remarkably little outrage at the atrocities that are visited elsewhere on Christians day in, day out. In the face of constant attack, Christianity seems weak and soft.

On the other hand, in much of the world you have to be very brave to be a Christian, and millions upon millions are prepared to show such bravery. There's nothing soft about that. Maybe the fact that so many human beings are making it clear that they are Christians while not fighting back in any aggressive way is a sign of strength rather than weakness.

Writing as a Christian, I think it is important to be very cautious in this situation. This is certainly no time for militancy to counter militancy. It would be reckless and utterly irresponsible to invoke anything that might suggest the spirit of the crusades. I like to think of Christianity as a gentle and tolerant religion. And it could be argued that as it is the most popular religion in the world, and by that significant criterion the most successful, it is inevitably going to be the most persecuted.

Also, Jesus Christ was careful to warn his follows that they might be arrested, punished and killed. "Because of me, you will be hated by all nations," he said. Absolutely nothing in what he said suggested that Christianity would ever be an easy way of life. Maybe Christianity should never be regarded as a religion of comfort, ease and security, but rather a religion for people prepared to be on the margins, bereft of power and attacked on all sides.

Christianity is manifestly not in decline. But it could be that in most parts of the world, to be a Christian will become an ever tougher option.