But listening aloud, valuable as it is, isn’t the same as reading aloud. Both require a great deal of attention. Both are good ways to learn something important about the rhythms of language. But one of the most basic tests of comprehension is to ask someone to read aloud from a book. It reveals far more than whether the reader understands the words. It reveals how far into the words ”” and the pattern of the words ”” the reader really sees.
Reading aloud recaptures the physicality of words. To read with your lungs and diaphragm, with your tongue and lips, is very different than reading with your eyes alone. The language becomes a part of the body, which is why there is always a curious tenderness, almost an erotic quality, in those 18th- and 19th-century literary scenes where a book is being read aloud in mixed company. The words are not mere words. They are the breath and mind, perhaps even the soul, of the person who is reading.
I had a minor stammer when I was younger, and they made me read aloud. It helped amazingly; I even worked on radio as a news reader for a while in college because of it.
At the beginning of Advent last year my parish instuted daily morning and evening prayer. The goal is that we will practice all the daily offices and that the readers will be laypeople. At the beginning the priests and deacon requently read but we have built up a corps of volunteers abd now both services are primarily led by laity. Attendance was initially modest but has been steadily growing. I do agree that reading aloud, and listening to the spoken word, conveys meaning far beyond that received from reading alone and silently.