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Our tolerance point
Each night one can turn on the television and see wars and threats of wars, famines, diseases, murders. Barraged with pictures and sounds of horror, one may ask, "What is my tolerance point? As much as I care, at what point can I, or do I, begin to say, 'No more!'" As I have come to terms with these questions, I have realized I can be of significant help to others by making sure I have a zero tolerance for evil.
Having no tolerance for evil isn't wishful thinking or ignoring wrong in favor of pie-in-the-sky dreams. Nor does it mean refusing to be appropriately informed about humanity's needs. The demand is for prayer and watchfulness about what we accept to be true of God and of man's relation to Him. Our tolerance point then becomes not a measure of disgust but of our spiritually based love for God and man. And healing results.
Christ Jesus didn't have any tolerance for evil—either in the form of abnormalities and disease or in the form of hatred's atrocities. He healed the blind, the sick, the lame—not partially, but wholly. He fed the hungry and restored to their parents children whose lives were under threat of disease or death. When he was crucified by cruel persecutors, he was able to rise from the grave. It was his spiritual understanding of God, as omnipotent Love and divine Life, that enabled him to prove man's wholeness, immortality, and spiritual exemption from wrong.
Enjoy 1 free Sentinel article or audio program each month, including content from 1898 to today.
January 22, 1996 issue
View Issue-
Christian competition and healing games
George Reed
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No trickiness in God
Monty Hoyt
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Dear Sentinel
with contributions from Asher Severini, Adam Kleski
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Pop songs that uplift and heal
by Kim Shippey
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Only a pot of oil?
Lynne Young
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Fighting the right battle
Tony Lobl
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Claim your day
Allison T. Demarkles
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Our tolerance point
Lynn G. Jackson
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Why go to church?
Barbara M. Vining
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Wind-watching and seed-sowing
Mary Metzner Trammell
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Two healings that I experienced during my college years strengthened...
Elizabeth Kinghorn Tausch
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One evening I was riding my bike home
Lucie Chalmers Minsk