Father Victor D’Souza washed my feet last Thursday as 500 men, women and children watched his every gesture in our new and very beautiful parish of the Blessed Mother Teresa, Saint of the Gutters of Calcutta. With me before the altar were 12 other ‘apostles’, two of them women, chosen democratically by a Biblical draw of lots.

Father Victor washed my feet, dried them with a towel, and then kissed a foot still swollen and puckered in the aftermath of a cardiac procedure. Touching of feet is in tradition, but we do it only if the ‘Other’ is an elder, someone big, powerful, upper caste, perhaps. Father Victor, an administrator of the archdiocese of Delhi, is 72. I am touching 60. But in washing my feet, he was just following the example of his Master and mine, Jesus, who did something similar two millennia ago in the city of Jerusalem on an evening when he knew he was to be betrayed, delivered to the rulers, and executed.

Jesus marked mankind’s transition from the terrible God of old, who would wipe out evil with a stroke of the sword or tongue of fire, who would demand blood sacrifice. Jesus-God chose to be born of Woman, chose to live among the poor, freely consorted with the occasional thief, the despised harlot who was untouchable but for the moments when someone quenched his lust, and with those with malignant skin. People like us. Jesus chose to be the sacrifice, replacing a multitude of religious diktats with the solitary commandment, ‘Love one another’, as he trudged his way up Golgotha Hill to die on the Cross.

... contd.