When I was at vicar-school, I learned that when one reads out loud, one tends to do so more quickly if one reads quietly. Similarly, reading off a computer screen in a study takes less time than reading exactly the same words in a large church building. Throw in a congregation that is listening (in varying degrees) and the same words take even longer. It’s a bit of an odd set of facts, but they are all true. What this means for me is that I have to remember when I am preparing my sermons that it will take me longer to deliver on the day than in preparation.
Knowing this also helps me advise people who want to speak at the funeral of a loved one. But there is another even more useful tip I have for them – it is critical to practise out loud. You see, as well as getting longer in relation to the size of the room in which they are spoken, words also seem to come alive when they are given voice. In the Bible, we read about God speaking all creation into being – “Let there be light, sky, dry land etc.” – and about him breathing life into Adam’s nostrils. The two acts are related, for speaking is a combination of setting vocal cords vibrating and exhaling (breathing out). Speech has a creative power. We say the pen is mightier than the sword. I dare suggest speech is mightier than the pen.
I counsel grieving relatives to read their eulogies out loud before the funeral because the act of speaking can unleash powerful emotional forces which may catch them unawares. Words which have been scanned with the eyes twenty times somehow, when read out loud, have the power to render a reader silent, reducing their speech to a series of attempts to hold back tears and sobs. Far better to melt into a puddle of emotion in the solitude of one’s home than in front of a crowd of friends who want to hear what you are trying, and failing, to convey.
I had an experience of this myself recently. For the schools’ Easter assemblies, I decided to read the story of the Three Trees. It’s a beautiful short story about three saplings with big dreams for their futures. The first tree wanted to be a treasure chest. I wanted to make sure the story wasn’t too long, so I read it loudly and deliberately slowly off the computer screen in my study, trying to compensate a little for the lengthening effect of reading in a larger room. I won’t tell the whole story, but for the sake of this piece, you need to know that the first tree was not fashioned into a chest, but into an animal’s feeding trough. About three quarters of the way through the story, a mother lays her baby boy to sleep inside the feeding trough (manger) and the first tree suddenly knows that she is holding the greatest treasure in the world. And I am in bits. I who know the story well am struggling to speak under the power of the emotion welling up within me. A deep breath and onto the next sentence – remember, I am timing this! Nope. More tears. You see, I have held four of my own newborn babies and I know how precious they are. I can picture the scene clearly and the love in it is profound. And yet there is something even more special about the baby in the story. He truly is the greatest of all treasures – the infinite God of all creation come to live among us in the mess we have made of our world with a view to restoring all things and raising us to be with him in his perfect eternity. And faced with this, as the songwriter Steven Curtis Chapman wrote, “I am speechless, astonished and amazed; I am silenced by [God’s] wondrous grace.”
May the priceless treasure who is Jesus touch your heart.