Reading Scripture effectively can bring the text to life. This article argues that the best way to do that is through a typical conversational tone of voice. Scripture readers are encouraged to carefully study and rehearse each passage they are to read.
Many studies have been done on the parts of worship—where people fall asleep and where they wake up. Whatever else researchers conclude about the flow of liturgy, they all agree that people stop listening as soon as the Scripture is being read, and return to consciousness, perhaps, after it is over. The Scripture reading is presented as a somber pill we have to take, its meaning to be grasped later in the sermon.
I suggest that before we add various artistic tools to the communication of Scripture, we learn how to read the Scripture, word for word, in a way that is surprisingly fresh and alive. Because it is fresh and alive! We are not adding that to the reading. We are allowing it to be, giving room to what is already there.
There are three ways to read from a text. One way is to use a “reading voice.” This is the one that you recognize when a congregation reads something in unison. There is a set cadence, regardless of the grammar or sentence structure, that sounds like everyone is riding a horse: “Ta-da-da-da-dah, ta-da-da-da-dah,” rising in pitch then falling with a thud at the end of the phrase.
The second voice is not so monotone; it is trying to be more expressive. This is what I call a “memorized voice.” Again there is a sing-song cadence to it, but the sentence goes up at the end: “Ta-da-da-da-dah, ta-da-da-da-dah.” There is an affected theatrical quality to it, expressing the power of the total piece, but still not regarding the individual words. This is the voice that you hear when you listen to something that was obviously memorized, and the reader is making a valiant effort to be properly dramatic.
The third kind of voice is what I call the “talking voice.” This is the voice I am encouraging for reading Scripture. The reader recognizes that there is a beauty in the written word, but a different kind of beauty in the spoken word. You use one kind of language to write a term paper and another kind of language to explain your research to a friend. Just as the Good News must be translated from Greek to English for our understanding, so it must be translated from written to oral language for us to feel its immediate presence.
The technique of the “talking voice” recognizes that the cadence of one’s voice is influenced by many factors besides the grammatical structure of the text. For example, when talking we often ignore the punctuation that would be present if the text were written. We speed up and slur our words, in a hurry to get to the good part. We slow down to stall for time as we get our thoughts together. We add humor and drama to the little phrases instead of them being only subservient to the larger grandiose concept. We are relaxed, taking our time, and enjoying the weave of the story. We use our faces and hands as paintbrushes picturing our total presence in the story. We add “um’s” and “uh’s” and “so’s” and “like’s” and “y’know’s.” We repeat ourselves. We drop words. We use contractions and make up our own contractions. We smile and scowl and glance sideways at imaginary characters.
Each word counts! That doesn’t mean that each word is given equal weight or length. But as emphasis or throwaway, each word holds within it a little magic that can take us off the page and into the breathing present.
I am suggesting that each word or phrase be read in the same voice you would use to speak to a friend. This requires studying and practicing the text beforehand until you develop the ability to “translate” extemporaneously. It needs to come off comfortably and relaxed, or appropriately full of true pain or poignancy—dramatic, but not theatrical.
To begin understanding the concept, read just one sentence out loud. It is helpful to do this with a class or partner at first because others have more objective ears and can help you hear how you are saying something. Listen carefully to the inflection you use. Would you say it that way in real life?
Listen, for example, to the stern voice quality or, on the other hand, the breathy earnest quality, which is often used to say: “Jesus said, ‘Love one another as I have loved you.’ ”
Now compare this to the voice used to say: “Hey you guys, Mom said to stop fighting and come on in the house.”
Likely, in the Jesus sentence, you tend to use a lower voice and an even tone drifting downward. In the mom sentence, you use a higher voice and you bring your voice up on hey, Mom, stop, come, and house.
Another example
“Jesus wept. Then said the Jews, ‘Behold how he loved him!’ And some of them said, ‘Could not this man, who opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man should not have died?’ ”
“Jesus (pause) wept. (pause) Then some Jews said, (very quietly) Behold! (a little louder, awe and questioning in voice) how he loved him! (sarcasm in voice) Then some others said, (add sneer to voice and face) couldn’t this man, … this man who opened the eyes of the blind, … (said quickly on one pitch) couldn’t he have caused that even (raise pitch to a question and keep it up throughout the phrase) this man shouldn’t have died?”
There is not, of course, one right way to do it. I recommend that, as you work on a text, you read it first in a reading voice, then again in a memorized or theatrical voice, to hear it again and get those styles out of your system. Then read it in a number of talking voice styles, experimenting until you find the rhythm that is both true to your own speaking, and also true to the text. The more somber styles may seem more true to our expectation of holy Scripture, but they wash over the congregation like a Cecil B. DeMille soundtrack. This talking style is truer to the text because it is actually paying attention to what each word is saying.
Some people have told me that they are afraid that they will get in trouble if they don’t read the Bible in a boring way; that the minister won’t let them; that they’re not allowed to “change” it; that the congregation isn’t ready for this; that their own performance will get in the way of the reading; that people will laugh at them. These are concerns to be addressed with care. Understand that they are not actually questions of biblical exegesis, but questions of theology, pastoral relationship, and congregational community. If you feel like you’re performing, or being foolish, it may mean that you are using the theatrical voice and trying too hard. The change in the talking voice comes more from your own internal relationship with the text.
Jesus did not speak in King James or Revised Standard English. Our present Scripture is translated from translations, even as the gospel writers pulled their material from different sources. It is not that we are changing the Scripture if we repeat a phrase, add a pause, or drop a long list of unpronounceable geographical names that nobody has ever heard of, or if we change “heretofore” to “so that.” Jesus told the story, therefore we must tell the story.
I gave a class assignment to pick one of the healing stories, go home and memorize it; then (without the written page) tell the story to one person at least once a day. The partner would be unchanging so that a relationship with the story developed rather than the performance skills which would happen if it was told to different people. When the students came back to class, they agreed that at first, they had wanted to “fix” the story—throw in little exegetical comments to make it more clear or to repair inconsistencies in the text. But as time went by, that need dropped away and they just let themselves enter the story.
We sat informally in our carpeted classroom, and I asked them not to applaud after the stories—applause is such a loud, mood-breaking thing. But people need to respond, so I invited them to gently wave their hands, which is both applause and the word “hallelujah” in the deaf community. This effectively took away the performance mood and enabled a mood of prayer instead.
The students got up whenever they felt ready and told their stories without introduction or explanation. Three hours passed where we heard only Bible stories. We were falling on the floor laughing at times; we were in tears at other times. The humor and pathos were coming from the very words themselves, straight from the text. We agreed afterward that the evening had been a very healing experience, just as they had discovered the weeklong homework assignment to be healing for themselves.
One student had thought, “I don’t believe in healing stories,” so he had picked the story of the healing of the storm (the disciples’ fear was healed in that story, too). Our usual expectation in that story is for Jesus to rise up from sleep, drift like a ballerina across the boat, and in a gentle voice summon the storm—“Peace! Be still!”—then waft back to his place in the boat and all is well.
In this student’s interpretation, the speed and intensity of his voice rose with the anguish of the disciples until in anger they called for Jesus to wake up (doesn’t he care?). Jesus got up, rubbed his eyes, looked with disgust on the disciples, clomped across the heaving boat, and in an impatient voice at the top of his lungs shouted, “Peace! Be still!” After looking at the disciples with a disappointed sigh and shake of his head, Jesus then clomped back across the wet floorboards to collapse in a sleepy heap again.
Without his adding a single word to the text, we saw this interaction take place before our eyes and understood why the closing sentences showed that the disciples were even more confused and afraid. Who is this guy? The traditional voice inflection of gentle Jesus, meek and mild, puts a sugarcoating veneer over the power of the text. The power of Jesus was displayed not in his magic act of the stilled wind, but in his very presence and confidence.
At the end of the class, this particular student said that he was now willing to consider the possibility of there being real healing stories! The class said, “Okay, this worked with the stories. But you couldn’t use this technique with other parts of Scripture, like the epistles or Revelation.” I said, “Think of images that you remember from the non-gospel New Testament books, and call them out to me.” I made a long list on the blackboard (parts of the body of Christ, gifts of the Spirit, etc.). Then I said, “You can’t choose any of these! We remember these because of the story quality of these images. Pick something different, like a discussion on circumcision, go home, and tell it to your partner every day, just like before.” Many groans. The next week, as we gathered in the small carpeted classroom we had made our home for six weeks, I told them I had a surprise. I led them all across campus into the large stone chapel. The air was cold; the pews were hard. I told them that they might or might not use the pulpit, but that they were to create the same intimacy and presence that we had found last week, taking into consideration the acoustic and spatial differences.
It worked. Fully half of the chosen pieces were from such obscure texts, but told with such fullness of presence that everyone afterward whispered, “That was great! But, is that the Bible?” We had been touched, healed, brought to laughter or tears or “aha!” from the text itself, and not because we knew it was Scripture and, therefore, it should be good for us.
The class moved on to work with the Bible stories using the dramatic arts, which I was more accustomed to teaching. But the quality of the creations was heightened, compared to what I had received from other classes.
It is not a question of one or the other—should the Scripture be read word-for-word, or made contemporary through the dramatic arts? Rather, it is an issue of remaining true to the text in either style. The word is God’s saving action within history, our community, and ourselves. It is that calling and claiming of salvation, that inner relationship shouted out, which makes the Scripture reading the keystone of worship. Writings and readers stand hand in hand, sharing the good news.