It is a fascinating fact of intellectual history that, in antiquity, reading was not the silent, solitary endeavor we assume today, but rather an event of the spoken word—aural, communal, performative. Words in text, in other words, were not merely for the mind but for the ear.
Consider the account in Acts 8:30. Philip, upon encountering the Ethiopian eunuch, hears him reading aloud from the prophet Isaiah. Though traveling alone, the eunuch does not read in silence but vocalizes the sacred text. In the ancient world, this was simply how reading was done.
We find further confirmation in The Confessions of St. Augustine. When the young rhetorician visited Ambrose, Bishop of Milan, he observed an unusual practice: Ambrose read without moving his lips. Augustine found this so remarkable that he recorded it in Book 6, Chapter 3:
“When he read, his eyes scanned the page and his heart sought out the meaning, but his voice was silent and his tongue was still, for he never read aloud.”
Why did Augustine find this detail worthy of note? Because in the late fourth century, silent reading was still an emerging phenomenon. For most of history, reading was a liturgical, instructional, and often public act. One thinks of the synagogue, where Jesus read aloud from the scroll of Isaiah, or the early Christian communities, where apostolic letters were recited in the assembly (cf. Revelation 2-3).
“Though traveling alone, the eunuch does not read in silence but vocalizes the sacred text.”
This transition to silent reading was not simply a shift in literacy practices but a deep reconfiguration of the human relationship with texts. It permitted greater interiority, a heightened awareness of the self in dialogue with the written word. In this way, it paved the road for the kind of deep, personal reflection that would become a hallmark of Christian spirituality, particularly in the West. It is no coincidence that Augustine is often regarded as both the last ancient and the first modern man.
Yet, as with all developments, there are both gains and losses. The shift toward silent reading and private scriptural study, especially after the printing press made texts widely accessible, encouraged a more individualistic approach to biblical interpretation. But it also opened the door to idiosyncratic, speculative readings detached from the interpretive authority of the Christian community. As Peter warns, “No prophecy of the scripture is of any private interpretation” (2 Peter 1:20, NKJV). Thus, John’s words in Revelation 1:3 (NIV) remain crucial: “Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear…” No benediction is left for the hermeneutical lone wolf or gnostic-minded exegete.
The Word of God is not meant to be a private, esoteric possession but a proclamation, a kerygma.
“The Word of God is not meant to be a private, esoteric possession but a proclamation, a kerygma.”
For those of us who preach or lead God’s people in worship and study, there is a tempting tendency to move as quickly as possible through Scripture so that we might arrive at the brilliant insight or the perfect illustration we have been refining all week. We are eager to reach the practical application of God’s word. After all, we have already absorbed the message in our own lives and have been shaped by the text. However, we cannot assume that our audience has had the same privilege of study, reflection, and interior engagement with Scripture.
As preachers and teachers, we perform a function on behalf of the body, mediating the Word of God to those who may be encountering it afresh. In our haste to distill the truth of God’s word into a kind of 100-proof concentrate, we risk presenting ourselves as the managers of Scripture rather than its humble stewards. While our intentions may indeed be pure, we run the danger of depriving the people of God’s actual word, which carries power beyond our own interpretations or applications.
Consider, for example, the scene in the garden. God commands Adam, “You may surely eat of every tree of the garden, but of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil you shall not eat, for in the day that you eat of it you shall surely die“ (Genesis 2:16–17, ESV). Yet, when Eve speaks to the serpent, she recounts the command in an expanded form: “We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden, but God said, ‘You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the midst of the garden, neither shall you touch it, lest you die’” (Genesis 3:2–3, ESV).
“In our haste to distill the truth of God’s word into a kind of 100-proof concentrate, we risk presenting ourselves as the managers of Scripture rather than its humble stewards.”
The addition of “neither shall you touch it” is not found in God’s original command. It is a practical application, an additional safeguard, and on the surface, it appears wise. But does it not reflect, in some way, what Paul warns against when he speaks of “self-made religion” that has the “appearance of wisdom” but lacks real power (Colossians 2:23, ESV)?
Yes, we must give time to responsible exegesis. Yes, we must give time to practical application. But we must not put ourselves and what we’ve purposed to say ahead of God’s actual Word. The power of Scripture is not in our ability to expound upon it, but in the Word itself. The Reformers grasped this truth well in their articulation of sola Scriptura, not in the sense that Scripture stands in isolation from the Church, but that it remains supreme over human tradition and interpretation. Surely, in the call of restoration and renewal, to preach well is to ensure that the Word is heard clearly, unencumbered by our desire to prove ourselves as eloquent, clever and insightful.
After all, reading Scripture aloud is not a perfunctory ritual nor a mere formality to be checked off on a Sunday morning. It is a sacred speech act—an embodied proclamation of reverence, submission, and faith in the power of God’s Word to effect what it declares. As Isaiah reminds us,
“So shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose, and shall succeed in the thing for which I sent it.” (Isaiah 55:11, ESV)
“So shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty.”
When we hurry past the text, we impoverish the congregation, denying them the full force of divine revelation. Instead, let the scriptures resound in their fullness—read entire pericopes, proclaim the Psalms with the gravity they demand, let the prophets’ voices echo anew in the assembly. Approach this task with care and devotion, refining your craft as one entrusted with the “oracles of God.”
The God who spoke into the void and brought forth light still speaks through His living Word. “What more can He say than to you He hath said?” Paul’s charge to Timothy resounds with undiminished urgency: “Until I come, devote yourself to the public reading of Scripture…” (1 Timothy 4:13, ESV).
