The ’shranken’ Lord.

A host measures just a few centimetres in diameter.

The glass of a monstrance, only slightly more.

The eternal can be limited.

And yet, within these small measurements lies the bold claim of Catholicism:

That the infinite can choose to be contained. This idea is not totally new in the history of religions. Tzimtzum is a Hebrew word from the Jewish mystical tradition. It means contraction. To create the world, God had to withdraw, to shrink Himself, making space for something other than Himself to exist.

It seems that something similar happens in God as when a woman hears the words: “You are pregnant.”

And she must decide to make herself smaller, to contract, to make room—not for someone coming from outside, but for someone growing within her.

A few centimetres of bread carry a shocking claim: that the All-Powerful, the All-Knowing, loves to contract Himself. In this mystery, we see that the shrinking of the self— the contraction of the ego— is not a weakness.

It is divine!

It is the boundless ego that blinds us—so much so that we no longer see others. The ego that divides families, fractures communities, and poisons our workplaces. The ego that hardens the hearts of leaders and nations.

The same ego that makes human beings capable of justifying the unthinkable: even the killing of children.

I once attended a wedding where the priest turned to the bride and groom and said something unforgettable:

"The little box that held your expensive rings is more meaningful than the rings themselves."

He raised the box and continued: "If you want this marriage to succeed, you must pray—and fight—every day to make sure your ego can fit inside this tiny box."

We are about to walk with Christ through the streets—an image of life’s journey—where we constantly come across contemporary tabernacles of another god, temples of a different religion, where different hymns are sung each day. "Expand yourself." "Succeed at all costs." "Repeat the sacred creed: your death, my life— mors tua, vita mea."

And in this journey, we constantly receive this Eucharistic food, so that we may be able—again and again—to make the fundamental choice: Christ or the Ego.

My favourite Communion song is Ubi Caritas — “Where charity and love are, God is there.”

Today, as we walk with Christ through these city streets, let us sing in our hearts a different version of this hymn: “Where the ego shrinks, Christ is there.”

*Photo by Walter Coppola on Unsplash