Why Priests Kiss the AltarRead Time 10 min

When I visit a classroom or enjoy dinner with a family, I often appreciate the simple questions that kids ask. One question that comes up with some frequency is, “do you actually kiss the altar?” What is being referenced here is the entrance procession at Mass when the priest bows and reverences the altar. The short answer is “yes,” the priest kisses the altar. A longer answer as to why can be found in our readings this third Sunday in Lent.

In our first reading, the Israelites were griping about their reality. They wished reality would be different. While the Lord had liberated them from captivity, and in remarkable fashion, their trust in the Lord was drying up in the desert heat. They lashed out at Moses, “Why did you ever make us leave Egypt?” They longed to go back. They longed for any reality except the one they found themselves in. Understandably, Moses was at his wit’s end, for this was a constant refrain of the Israelites.

As we heard in our first reading, Moses asked the Lord what he should do. Interestingly, the Lord instructed Moses to bring the people to a rock. Imagine, of all things to quell the hearts of a tired, hungry and thirsty people, the Lord told Moses to bring the people to a rock. Not to an oasis, not back to Egypt, not to any other reality. A rock.

In so many ways, the rock held up reality like a mirror for Israel to see. Being a rock, it was as dry as the desert that they were wandering in. And being a rock, it was as hard as their hearts. “What good could come from this reality,” many likely asked when staring at the rock. Yet the Lord promised that from the rock, water will spring forth. At the same time, he was promising that from their reality, he will bring life. Indeed, as we read further, God makes good on this promise.

When writing to the Corinthians, St. Paul interpreted this rock in the desert as Christ. (c.f. 1 Cor 10:4) Based off the rock in our first reading, and learning from St. Paul, we can say that Christ holds up our reality for us to see. But what’s more, he becomes the source of “living water” capable of sustaining life in our present reality, as difficult as that might be to imagine.

We witness this in the Gospel. Jesus encountered the Samaritan woman at the well. The fact that the two met at noon betrays the Samaritan woman’s difficult reality. The normal time for getting water would be in the cool of the morning. She was relegated to fetching water at the worst time of day, at high noon. Apparently, nobody else would want much to do with her. Except Jesus.

Their conversation had a rough beginning. When addressing Jesus, the Samaritan woman started with enmity, declaring the sharp line between Jew and Samaritan that separated the two. “How can you, a Jew, ask me, a Samaritan woman, for a drink?” Jesus was not fazed by the hostility. This was part of her reality. And steady as rock, his patience allowed her to remain close. As the conversation continued, she began to address Jesus as “sir,” a title of respect. She wanted the living water that Jesus promised to give.

But in order to get this living water, she would need to reckon with her reality. Even the darkest part. Jesus asked her to call for her husband, and she had to come to grips with the fact that she had had five husbands, and that the one currently with her was not her husband. This too was part of her reality. Like the Israelites in the first reading, perhaps she would do anything to experience a different reality than her present one.

What came next is an invitation for our own prayer and lectio divina. After admitting her dark past to Christ, she actually grew in confidence and conviction that he is more than a respectable man, more than a prophet, but is, in fact, the Messiah. By being honest with Jesus, she could discover more of who Jesus is. Jesus miraculously produced the gift of faith in her, drawing it out of her current reality, even though their encounter started with hostility.

As a rock in the Old Testament forced Israel to reckon with its reality, and as Jesus slowly, patiently and lovingly led the Samaritan woman to acknowledge her sin, so too, Jesus will hold up our reality for us to see. But just as the rock in the Old Testament and for the Samaritan woman, Jesus can bring life-giving water from any reality we give to him.

So why does the priest kiss the altar at Mass? Traditionally, altars are made of stone, or at least have stone in them, and for good reason. The altar represents Christ. Writing in the fourth century, St. Ambrose asks rhetorically, “For what is the altar but the [figure] of the body of Christ?” (On the Sacraments, 5,2,7) Here emerges one reason the priest kisses the altar at Mass: It is a gesture of faith and confidence that even from stone, life can emerge. The miracle of the Mass is that the offerings placed on the cold stone of the altar are lifted up as the living Body of Blood of our Lord.

What happens when we continually bring our reality to the altar? To Christ? Sometimes our reality changes in the way we wish. But always, we change, and with hearts open, faith increases. While we may want to live in an alternate reality sometimes, it is better to live in the “altar-nate” reality that the Church offers in the Mass. A reality with Christ at the center, the source of living water.