Salvator Altchek of Brooklyn, New York, died on Tuesday, September 10th at the age of 92. I had never heard of Dr. Altchek until I read his obituary in the New York Times a couple of weeks ago¹. Usually the people who have obituaries in the New York Times are well known: national politicians, entertainers, famous artists, scientists, sports figures, and the like. But here was an exception to the rule.

Salvator Altchek practiced medicine in Brooklyn for 67 years. His family, Sephardic Jews from Salonika, immigrated to the United Sates in 1914. His older brother, Emmanuel, graduated from medical school first. Emmanuel then paid Salvator's tuition as he attended medical school. And then Salvator paid for his younger brother, Victor, to go to medical school.

Dr. Altchek was known as "the $5 doctor," because he served the poorest people of his neighborhood his entire life. Sometimes he charged $5 for an office visit, sometimes $10, sometimes nothing at all. He treated anybody in need, including Arab-Americans and Puerto Ricans, in a time when other physicians ignored ethnic minorities. He made evening house calls until he could no longer walk up flights of stairs a few years ago. His last spoken words to his brother Victor before his death were to remember that he owed a patient a medical report.

There is something special about this man's life that touches me deeply. In an age where the pursuit of fame, wealth and power are preeminent, Salvator Altchek symbolizes the opposite: humility and service to others. He gave everything that he had to his fellow human beings in Brooklyn Heights. He treated everyone as a special child of God, which is exactly what we are, children of God. And even though he was Jewish, that did not prevent him from showing the same love that Jesus Christ showed everyone he encountered, whether they were a fellow Jew or a Samaritan or a Greek.

In our scripture today from Paul's letter to the Philippians, we hear also of humility and self-sacrifice for others. Something is happening (we don't know what exactly) that is causing some divisions between the members of the church at Philippi. One bit of irony for you this morning: Philippi and Salonika, the birthplace of Salvator Altchek, are located within miles of each other in Greece. Paul is encouraging his congregants to put aside their own interests and come together as one. How should they do this? Paul gives them a model: follow the example of Jesus Christ.

Now, a portion of our scripture today was probably not Paul's own words. We believe that verses 6-11 constitute an ancient hymn to Christ that preceded even Paul's writings. These verses were probably spoken by the earliest Christians of the first century when they gathered together for worship, similar to the creeds we say today. It's worth a few moments to hear those words again:

Let the same mind be in you that was in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death¾even death on a cross (Phil. 2:5-8).

This, brothers and sisters, is a radical statement about who Jesus Christ is. Christ begins in the form of God, present with God from the very beginning of time. The Son is also said to be equal to God, yet different. What happens next is one of the things that makes Christianity unique when compared to other faiths. This co-equal, divine being "empties himself," which in Greek is known as kenosis. Christ voluntarily empties himself of his power in order to be born into a flesh-and-blood human being, Jesus. He has moved from divine to human, to the point of being compared to a slave or servant. And if that isn't shocking enough, the downward process continues until Jesus humbles himself to the point of death. And we finally reach rock bottom when we hear that Jesus does not just die of natural causes, but that he dies shamefully on a cross, a type of death reserved for the worst criminals of society.

For almost two thousand years, Christians have been repeating these very words in various forms, so it doesn't seem so shocking to us today. But the early church leaders, the bishops of major cities such as Alexandria, Jerusalem, Antioch, and Rome, were faced with a real problem. How could Jesus Christ, the Son of God, be both human and divine? How could this person who is equated with God the Father die, because by definition, gods are immortal and cannot die?

I will spare you all the political and theological details, but, suffice it to say, after hundreds of years of battling over Greek words and concepts, we finally reached a point where we say that Jesus Christ was both fully human and fully divine. Now, how can you logically say such a thing? I don't know, and the greatest theological thinkers of that day could not fully explain it either. It is one of the mysteries of our faith. It doesn't make sense rationally, but it still feels true in our hearts and souls. I know I feel this sense of mystery every Christmas Eve when we read those words from the beginning of the Gospel of John:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. . . . . And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth (John 1: 1, 14).

Our most famous Methodist poet, Charles Wesley, captures this sense of mystery in one of his hymns that we still sing today. It is the hymn, "And Can It Be that I Should Gain" (UMH 363). Written in 1739, Charles Wesley focuses on how incredible it is that God died for us. Listen to the words in verse 2 for example:

'Tis mystery all: th' Immortal dies!
Who can explore this strange design?
In vain the first-born seraph tries
to sound the depths of love divine.
'Tis mercy all! Let earth adore;
let angel minds inquire no more.

A mystery, indeed! God becomes human and dies a violent death on a cross, yet through that suffering saves humankind through "love divine." Jesus gives us this love not through conventional power and might, but through humility and obedience.

Will Willimon is a well-known United Methodist who serves as a professor and chaplain at Duke Divinity School. He, along with other religious figures, was asked by The Christian Century magazine to reflect on what has changed since the events of September 11, 2001. Willimon expressed his disappointment, saying that nothing has really changed for us, that we have gone right back to the way we were living our lives before the attack a year ago. Now, you can agree or disagree with his opinion on that matter, but he does say something that reminds us about who we are as Christians in this post-9/11 world. Willimon writes:

There was, Christians keep trying to believe, only one day that changed our world forever and that day was a Friday, not a Tuesday. On that day suffering love was revealed to be stronger than death, and God, not nations, the ruler of the world. That news, especially after September 11, continues to be the only news that's good.²

Strangely enough, Good Friday is part of the good news of our faith, and it is Jesus' example of self-emptying love that Paul presents to his congregation as the model to follow.

There was a young minister who had recently finished his seminary education and moved to a new community to begin his ministry. Like most new seminary graduates, he was filled with self-confidence, for he had been well-trained by his professors and practiced his new vocation in his fieldwork. He knew the latest scholarly information about the Bible and theology, and was ready to teach the multitude that would come to his classes. He had practiced his pastoral care skills as a hospital chaplain, and he was ready to help all those who were in crisis and grief. He loved to preach and he was eager to communicate the good news in interesting and innovative ways to the congregation each Sunday.

But in a story as old as Christian ministry itself, the young man's idealism was soon turned into a constant battle with reality. The congregation reflected the whole spectrum of theological beliefs and traditions; one way of teaching and preaching would not satisfy everyone. There were arguments over money, as the church struggled to balance its budget. It was a struggle to find new members in order to reverse the steady decline in the rolls. The young man began to understand Paul's situation a little better, for it seemed that there were more divisions than unity within the congregation.

This minister was preparing to preach a sermon on this very passage from Philippians and he was stuck. He needed some modern day examples of self-emptying love and humility and obedience. Maybe Mahatma Gandhi and his lifelong mission to bring independence to India through non-violent resistance? Or maybe Mother Teresa, caring for the poorest of the poor with her own hands, emulating Christ's love for lowliest of society? Well, those were okay, but they still did not seem right. The young man kept thinking and thinking, but nothing seemed to fit. Things were not looking good for Sunday.

Then he had a thought: "Maybe I am looking in the wrong places. Maybe humility and obedience and self-emptying love are not confined to famous religious leaders, but can be found in the very community that I am serving." And the young minister began to remember all the examples of self-emptying love he had witnessed with his own eyes.

There were the family members who put aside their own self-interest and ambitions to care for their husbands and wives and mothers and fathers who suffered from debilitating illnesses, who needed help with the simplest daily tasks. There were those who quietly reached out to fellow members when they encountered a major crisis in their lives: the loss of a job, a separation or divorce, the diagnosis of a life threatening disease. There were those who prayed for others in the congregation and the world every day, even though they had never met most of those who needed the prayer. There were those who volunteered countless hours of their personal time to keep the church functioning at the most basic levels: setting up the coffee hour, ushering on Sunday mornings, counting the money from the collection, answering the telephones, and on and on and on. There were those who reached out to the community to serve the less fortunate of the community, time that could have been spent at home with family or out on the town with friends.

When he thought of all those acts of humility and obedience, the young minister knew he had found what he was looking for. The congregation was certainly not perfect (no congregation is), but the mind of Christ was present among its members. As each member gave without reward and recognition, they were embodying the mind of Christ. Maybe things weren't so bad after all. So, the minister added those examples to the sermon and preached it to the flock on the appointed Sunday. He hoped that everyone who heard it could see themselves in that portrait of the church. And then he reached the end of his sermon. The minister paused, and he thanked God for the opportunity to be a part of such Christian love, bowed his head, and said "Amen."

NOTES:

1. The New York Times, September 9, 2002. You can read Dr. Altchek's obituary in full at www.nytimes.com.

2. The Christian Century, September 11-24, 2002, Vol. 119, No. 19, p. 8.