The Iconic Pulpit

This article was originally written for and published in The Living Church

For most of my adult life, I lived and served in the Orthodox tradition. As I prepared for the priesthood in the Episcopal Church, I found myself returning to a question: What do I bring from my Orthodox background into the ministry Christ has placed before me? Iconography is near and dear to me, and I began thinking about how those sacred images taught me and nurtured my faith, and how I want to lean more on them. They are not just art, but a way we proclaim Christ—visually, verbally, and in the very shape of our worship.

Icons, for Orthodox Christians, are not just religious pictures. They’re theology in color, as Bishop Kallistos Ware of Oxford University once put it: “An icon is not simply a religious picture designed to arouse appropriate emotions in the beholder; it is one of the ways whereby God is revealed to man.”

That has always struck me as a challenge for preachers, too. I remember a remark on the Anglican Compass weblog: “Preaching is a sacramental act whereby a person like us opens up God’s Word to us.” Our sermons aren’t just words—they become windows through which Christ is revealed.

I think about the discipline of the iconographer—how writing an icon is a spiritual practice, not just a technical one. Before an iconographer begins painting on wood, there’s prayer, fasting, and a kind of humility that’s hard to come by today. Alexander Schmemann said, “Art begins with ‘law,’ i.e., know-how, obedience and humility, acceptance of forms. But art is fulfilled in grace: When the form becomes the content it reveals the content, it is the content.”

I have that in mind as I look in our lectionary. My job in the pulpit isn’t to invent something new but to let the gospel shine through the tradition I’ve received.

Preaching, at its best, is like iconography. Both are acts of stewardship, not ownership. Rowan Williams puts it this way: “Becoming holy is being so taken over by the extraordinariness of God that that is what you are really interested in, and everything else becomes less interesting.” That’s the preacher’s task: to get out of the way so people can see Christ, not us.

As a deacon in the Orthodox tradition, I would carry out the Gospel, much like deacons do in the Anglican tradition, and chant the Gospel for the day, surrounded by icons. I was never alone. The faces of the saints watched us, drawing us deeper into the mystery we were experiencing in the liturgy.

Fr. John Behr, an Orthodox priest and visiting professor at Nashotah House, captures this beautifully: “It’s never simply speaking about God or speaking philosophy—it’s an encounter with and addressed to and a response from God … all of that is essential both so that the words are constantly in their hearts and on their lips, that their movements in all they do become measured with the grace of the liturgy and that all that they see is shaped by the vision of the kingdom through the icons.”

What would it mean to preach “iconically”? For me, it means letting the sermon become a window into heaven. It means trusting that the Spirit can work through words and images, through silence and symbol, to kindle faith.

We should try to preach with images, not just ideas. We need people to “see” the gospel, to step into the story. Hans Boersma writes, “Underlying the sermon is the conviction that Old Testament narrative functions as a sacrament that contains Christ as its real presence. … Exegesis is first and foremost searching for the reality of Christ.” That’s what we should focus on: how we can help the faithful in our congregations find and connect with Christ in the Scriptures, in the liturgy, in their lives.

Last Advent, I found myself coming back repeatedly to an icon of the Annunciation. Mary’s openness, her willingness to say “Yes”—it’s an image that stays with me. It shapes how I talk about vocation, about receiving the Word, about letting Christ be born in us.

Icons invite us to see with the eyes of the heart. Preaching, at its best, does the same. Rowan Williams puts it perfectly: “The icon declares that it is possible for human beings in communion with Christ to be bearers of divine action and divine light.” May our preaching, in word and image, become a living icon—drawing all who hear and see into the mystery of God’s love.

Everywhere we look today, we’re surrounded by images, and they are fighting for our attention on TV, on billboards, on our phones, and for the most part, they want us to buy something or to distract us. This is where the Church has a unique opportunity to offer something different. Icons are theology passed down as part of the Chrisitan tradition for centuries, inviting us to experience Christ.

My house is full of icons. I don’t see them as some relics of the past, but as living witnesses that help me and my family focus on the wonder and reverence of our proclaiming the Faith.

One of the most beautiful and challenging truths I’ve learned from both Orthodox and Anglican traditions is that we are called not only to talk about Christ, but to embody his presence. When we preach, we are, in some small way, icons—we are living people using our words to point to the reality of God.

This isn’t about being perfect and saying all the right words; it’s about letting the light of Christ shine through us. The more I’ve leaned into this, the more I’ve realized that effective preaching is less about dramatic or funny stories, but is more about being honest and showing a transparency to the presence of Christ, like icons.

The beauty of icons isn’t just aesthetic; it’s transformative. The faces of the saints, the gestures, the colors—all of it is meant to draw us into the mystery of Christ’s self-giving love. In icons, beauty is never separated from truth or goodness. They call us to see the world, all that God has created, and each other differently, aligning our worldview to Christ.

How can we use icons in preaching, especially in our tradition, in which those in the pews might not be as familiar? I think it begins with our prayerful engagement. Before we introduce an icon to the congregation, we need to spend time with it ourselves—learning to see, to listen, to let the image shape our imagination and understanding of Christ. I often find that the more time I spend with an icon, the more it begins to inform not just what I say, but how I say it.

We can use icons as touchstones into the mysteries of our faith. Take, for example, preparing for a sermon on the Feast of the Transfiguration; I might describe the light radiating from Christ in the icon, bringing people on a journey to Mount Tabor, asking them to imagine themselves with the Apostles surrounded by the uncreated light. Or during Advent, I might reflect on the icon of the Annunciation, drawing out the posture of Mary as a model for our openness to God’s call.

We might consider bringing an icon into the nave, placing it where people can see it as they listen. Or, if those in our parish might not yet be comfortable with icons, we can describe its details and invite the congregation to “see” the Gospel story through its colors and forms. This is a way for us to make the mysteries of faith more tangible and accessible.

But more than anything, bringing icons into the pulpit is about sharing Christ, calling people to him with awe and reverence. It’s about slowing down, making space for God, and trusting that the Holy Spirit can work through icons and our words. Icons remind us that our faith is not just something for us to think about, but is interactive and embraces our whole being. We see, we touch, we taste, and we experience Christ with our whole being. Icons remind us we are living in an incarnational world.

My hope is that our preaching, like icons, can be a window into heaven. I pray that we can use our words and image to help the faithful in our congregations see Christ and be drawn ever deeper into the mystery of our faith. If we can do that, no matter how imperfectly, then we are truly preaching with the eyes of the heart.