You make the sign of the cross, bow slightly, kiss the icon, then cross yourself again and step back. That’s the basic physical action. But what you’re doing spiritually is something bigger.
When you venerate an icon, you’re not kissing wood and paint. You’re greeting a person. The honor passes through the image to the saint or to Christ himself. Think of it like kissing a photograph of someone you love who’s far away, you’re not kissing paper, you’re expressing affection for the person in the picture. Except icons aren’t just photographs. They’re windows into heaven, making present the reality they depict.
Why We Do This
The whole practice rests on the Incarnation. God became flesh. He took on a human body, which means matter isn’t evil or unspiritual. Christ sanctified the material world by entering it. So we can depict him, and we can honor those depictions because the honor goes to him, not to the paint.
The Seventh Ecumenical Council settled this back in 787. The iconoclasts wanted to destroy all images, thinking they violated the Second Commandment. But the Council fathers said no, that commandment forbids worshiping false gods, not honoring images of the true God who became visible in Christ. St. John of Damascus put it clearly: “I do not worship matter, I worship the God of matter, who became matter for my sake.”
When you walk into St. Michael’s and see the icon of Christ on the icon stand, you’re seeing theology. Not just decoration. That image proclaims that God really became man, that he had a face you could’ve looked at, hands you could’ve touched.
The Actual Mechanics
Approach the icon. Cross yourself. Bow from the waist, not a full prostration, just a reverent bow. Kiss the icon. Most people kiss the hand or foot of the saint, or the Gospel book if Christ is holding one. Then cross yourself again and step back.
Some people light a candle before or after. That’s optional. The candle represents your prayer rising to God, but it’s not required for proper veneration.
Don’t overthink the kiss itself. A gentle touch of your lips is fine. You’ll notice the icons at church have a little wear on certain spots from years of kisses, that’s normal and even beautiful in its own way. If you’re sick or it’s flu season and you’d rather not kiss the icon, a reverent bow alone is acceptable. The posture of your heart matters more than the mechanics.
What You’re Not Doing
You’re not worshiping the icon. Worship, what the Greek fathers called latria, belongs to God alone. That’s adoration, the kind of honor that involves sacrifice and supreme devotion. What we give icons is veneration, which is reverence and honor. We venerate lots of things: the Gospel book, the cross, the chalice, our parents (if we’re following the Fifth Commandment properly). None of that is worship.
Your Baptist uncle might see you kiss an icon and think you’ve gone off into idolatry. He’s wrong, but his concern makes sense if he doesn’t understand the distinction. We’re not asking the icon for anything. We’re asking the saint depicted in the icon to pray for us, the same way we’d ask your uncle to pray for us. The icon just makes that saint present to us in a tangible way.
When You’re New
If you’re visiting an Orthodox church for the first time, you don’t have to venerate the icons. Watch what others do. Nobody’s going to judge you for standing back while you figure things out. But when you’re ready to try, just do it simply. The woman in front of you might cross herself three times and make a full prostration because she’s been Orthodox for forty years. You can cross yourself once and bow. Both are fine.
What matters is that you’re approaching a person. When you kiss the icon of St. Michael, you’re greeting the Archangel himself. When you kiss the icon of the Theotokos, you’re honoring the Mother of God. It’s not magic and it’s not mechanical. It’s relational.
Over time, this practice changes how you see the world. You start to notice that matter can bear grace, that the physical and spiritual aren’t enemies. That’s important for people like us who live in a refinery town where everything’s concrete and steel and crude oil. The Incarnation means God entered this material world and made it capable of holiness. Icons are proof of that. They’re one way we participate in what’s already true: heaven and earth are closer than we think.
The best way to learn is just to start doing it. Come to Vespers on Saturday evening. Watch. Try it yourself when you’re ready. You’ll figure it out.
