Lately, I’ve been noticing kisses. No, I’m not devouring romance novels, watching the soaps, or seeing too many romantic comedies. (Although I did watch You’ve Got Mail for the umpteenth time a few weeks ago on television just because…well, just because it was on!)

Most mornings, I see moms kiss their kids goodbye after walking them to the gate of the elementary school at the end of my block. Sometimes the kids forget their kiss, and run back for it. (This makes the crossing guard’s job a little more complex.)

If I didn’t have an adorable dog of my own, I’d be amazed at how many people kiss their pets. (A kiss a day is, of course, a requirement for Chester the Japanese Chin, who came with his own “kissing spot” – a small white wisp of fur right on the top of his softball-sized head.)

Then there are the obligatory wedding ceremony kisses – front and center – that declare the deal is done. Sometimes they’re funny, sometimes sweet, and sometimes exuberant.

But the kiss that got me thinking (and noticing all these other kisses) was the kiss that “fingered” the Son of God and sounded the starting gun for his terrible, beautiful surrender:

“And immediately while He was speaking, Judas, one of the twelve, came up, accompanied by a multitude with swords and clubs, from the chief priests and the scribes and the elders. Now he who was betraying Him had given them a signal, saying ‘Whomever I shall kiss, he is the one; seize Him and lead Him away under guard.’ And after coming, he immediately went to Him, saying ‘Rabbi!’ and kissed Him. And they laid hands on Him, and seized Him.” (Mark 14: 43-46, NASB)

All my life I’ve read of the five wounds of Christ…but really, weren’t there six? And was the kiss he received from one of his own any less a piercing than the ones Jesus bore in his hands and feet and side?

“How could he?” I think when I read of Judas’ kiss. How could he say “Rabbi!” and smile and touch God’s very cheek with a sign of honor when in his heart he knew that he was selling him out? How could he? And it was Judas himself who chose the sign of the kiss! I would have pointed, with my hand close to my ribs, that This One was the One. Or nodded my head in his direction and then looked away.

How do I know? Because that’s how I sin. Slyly. Covertly. With small, close to the vest motions, not broad, sweeping ones. With averted eyes. Not with open kisses.

But maybe it’s time to re-think that strategy. Maybe I should consider a kiss each time I consider sin. Maybe if I saw myself – with my betraying heart – sidle up to Son of God and kiss him each time I contemplate choosing my own way over his, I’d sin less.

Maybe if I thought of the great love that set me free I’d fall on my own face in repentance before I’d kiss his in deliberate denial. Lately, I’ve been noticing kisses.

© Leigh McLeroy 2004