The letters on icons are inscriptions that name and identify who or what is depicted. They’re not decorative. They tell you exactly who you’re looking at so you know who you’re venerating.
Icons in the Orthodox Church aren’t just religious art. They’re theology in color, windows into heaven, and the inscriptions are part of that theology. When you see an icon of Christ with those Greek letters at the top, you’re not just looking at a painting of a bearded man. The letters tell you this is Jesus Christ, the eternal God made flesh.
The Most Common Letters You’ll See
Walk into St. Michael’s and look at the icons. On Christ’s icon you’ll see IC XC in the upper corners. That’s Greek shorthand for “Jesus Christ,” using the first and last letters of each word (ΙΗΣΟΥΣ ΧΡΙΣΤΟΣ). In Christ’s halo there’s often a cross with the letters O ΩN, which means “The One Who Is.” That’s God’s own name from the burning bush, the great I AM. It’s right there declaring that this man is God himself.
On icons of the Virgin Mary you’ll see MP ΘY (or sometimes ΜΡ ΘΥ). That stands for Μήτηρ Θεοῦ, “Mother of God.” Not just mother of Jesus the man, but Theotokos, the God-bearer. The letters make the theology explicit.
Saints’ icons carry their names too, usually abbreviated. You might see “St. Michael” or “Αγ. Μιχαήλ” in Greek or the equivalent in Church Slavonic if the icon was written in Russia or Serbia. Some Antiochian icons use Arabic inscriptions. The language depends on where the icon was made and for whom, but the principle stays the same.
Why Bother With Letters?
Here’s the thing. Icons use a symbolic style, not photographic realism. Without the inscription, you might not know if you’re looking at St. Peter or St. Paul, St. Nicholas or St. Basil. The name matters because you’re not just admiring a holy-looking figure. You’re asking that specific saint to pray for you.
But it goes deeper than identification. In Scripture and in the Church’s understanding, names aren’t arbitrary labels. To name something is to participate in its reality. When the icon names Christ, it’s making a proclamation. This is Jesus. This is the Word made flesh. The inscription anchors the image in the Church’s confession of faith.
Word and image work together. The Incarnation makes this possible. Because God took flesh, material things can convey divine truth. Paint and wood and letters can show us Christ. The image makes visible what the Word revealed, and the inscription names that revelation. You can’t separate them without losing something essential.
I’ve watched inquirers stand in front of the iconostasis here trying to puzzle out those Greek letters. It feels foreign at first, especially if you grew up in a Baptist church where the walls were bare except maybe a wooden cross. But those inscriptions aren’t there to confuse you or to make Orthodoxy seem exotic. They’re there because the Church has always insisted on clarity about who we’re venerating and why.
The Seventh Ecumenical Council settled the question of icons back in 787. The Church declared that we can make images of Christ precisely because he became man. And part of making those images properly meant identifying them clearly. You don’t venerate an unnamed figure and hope for the best. You venerate Christ, or his Mother, or St. Michael the Archangel, and the inscription makes that explicit.
If you’re just starting to learn about icons, don’t let the unfamiliar alphabet throw you. Ask someone at church what the letters mean. Most of us learned the same way. After a few weeks you’ll recognize IC XC without thinking about it. You’ll know that MP ΘY means you’re standing before the Theotokos. The letters become part of how you pray, part of how the icon draws you into the reality it depicts.
