Lately, I have been trying to read the news more often. For whatever reason, I have never been big on reading the news, but I know it is good to be informed about the goings-on in the world. Likewise, it is good to be informed with regard to political issues, especially because as a person capable of voting, I should vote responsibly. The privilege of voting is one that is considerably rare in human history, which is all the more reason to take this responsibility seriously.

I am reluctant, however, to invest too much time in reading the news and staying informed. Some of this reluctance is legitimate: it is possible to be distracted by constantly following the news. Even more problematic than this, it is possible to be so engaged with the important issues going on around the world that the present responsibilities of our state in life are neglected. This misplaced prioritization of the global over the local has been my justification for not being overly informed.

Over the years, my emphasis has been honed towards the present reality—towards the local, as opposed to the global. This is largely due to the notion that love occurs in the daily grind as opposed to occurring in fanciful dreams that exist in the abstract. Love in dreams is romantic and idealistic; love in reality is messy and complicated and tiresome. In fact, love cannot happen in the abstract; it must happen in reality.

Clearly, however, staying informed is a good thing if it is exercised within proper priorities. There are issues in the world of great importance and, furthermore, as a voter I should be informed on those issues that I will affect with my vote. With this in mind, I have been making a concerted effort to attend to the daily news.

This has been difficult, however, because the news is so often disheartening. The history of fallen human nature repeats itself on a daily basis, leaving one feeling powerless to put an end to the violence and evil in the world. It is difficult to stay informed while not becoming jaded and cynical—and I would conjecture that the sickness of being an “adult” is more often than not this cynicism, which strikes at the core of our nature as beings who were made to hope for the future.

Here I am reminded of an essay by Vaclav Havel, The Power of the Powerless. In this essay, Havel gives an analysis of the way in which the communist regime in Central-Eastern Europe is perpetuated by the support of the individuals who sustain it. This system is so massive that it can leave one feeling powerless to stop it, wondering what, in fact, the power of the powerless is.

With regards to this system, Havel says, “They need not accept the lie. It is enough for them to have accepted their life with it and in it. For by this very fact, individuals confirm the system, fulfill the system, make the system, are the system.” The power of the powerless is to live within the transcendent and objective truth toward which his conscience points—to live for this truth as opposed to the truth of an empty ideology.

Here we might be tempted to fall into despair and say, “What good will come about from living the truth? It will not put an end to violence, nor will it redeem man.” We might also be tempted to add, “Christ’s love is a miracle impossible on earth.” In so doing, we may think that we are being realistic, mature, and responsible.

Saying this, however, would ignore the very real fact that Christ’s love is manifest in history, through time, since the beginning. In creation itself, in the wanderings of the Jewish people and in the 2,000-year existence of the Church, God’s love for his people is made known. We are able to participate in this love and share it. In this way, Christ’s love is made real through the charity of the faithful everyday throughout the world.

In reflecting on God’s love expressing itself through history, I was struck by the story of the Jewish people making their exodus through the desert. One passage in particular stood out, in which Moses reminds his people of God’s love for them:

“Did any people ever hear the voice of a god speaking out of the midst of the fire, as you have heard, and still live? Or has any god ever attempted to go and take a nation for himself from the midst of another nation, by trials, by signs, by wonders, and by war, by a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, and by great terrors, according to all that the Lord your God did for you in Egypt before your eyes? To you it was shown, that you might know that the Lord is God; there is no other besides him” (Deut. 4:33-35).

God’s work amidst the wandering Jewish people was tangible and miraculous. In the midst of the powerful nations of the earth, God made himself known by means of magnificent acts and, in doing so, revealed that the Jewish people did not so much choose him as he chose them. He chose to care for them, to protect them, and to sustain them. He chose to love them first.

Amidst the great evils of our own time, we yearn for immediate justice and for God to make his vengeance and wrath known. God chose, however, to make himself known in the person of Jesus Christ, who died on a cross at the hands of one of the greatest empires in the Western World. His act of love has resonated far more powerfully and durably than any great manifestation of his awesome power.

Proof of this is found in the fact that the Jewish people, in spite of God’s presence in their midst on a daily basis, strayed from the Lord. Further proof is found in the Gospel: how many saw Christ’s miracles and did not believe? This power of love, made real in the ultimate act of Christ’s sacrifice, resonates throughout history because it appeals to the conscience of every individual and enables all people to share in Christ’s love.

I would suggest that when we are confronted by the continual wickedness of human actions, we must remind ourselves of the very real power of love and conscience. Man cannot live without hope, and so he will always be searching for a basis for his faith in tomorrow. Our hope is based in Jesus Christ, who reveals the kingdom of God that is to come; at the same time, however, the very fact of his Incarnation makes the present world and our life here all the more important. We must be in the world, but not of the world, as a light to reveal Christ’s love to all people.

Gabriel Griggs graduated from Notre Dame in 2014 with a degree in liberal arts and mathematics. He is currently a postulant at Moreau Seminary in the Congregation of Holy Cross. Contact him at ggriggs@nd.edu.