When God Speaks: Rediscovering the Power of Public Scripture Reading

When’s the last time you heard God’s voice?

I don’t mean the still small voice in your conscience or the nudge of the Spirit in prayer. I mean—when’s the last time you actually heard the living God speak to you with the same authority, clarity, and power He spoke to Moses on Sinai or to the prophets in their visions?

Here’s my second question: When’s the last time you sat under six hours of sustained Scripture reading and found yourself captivated the entire time?

And here’s the diagnostic question: When I say we’re going to look at the public reading of Scripture this morning, is your thought, “Well, that’s interesting trivia, but what does it have to do with my life on Monday morning?”

You see, we’ve developed a strange relationship with the Bible in our modern evangelical culture. We quote it. We tweet it. We put it on coffee mugs and wall art. We’ll defend its inerrancy and inspiration. We’ll argue about translations and manuscripts and textual variants.

But somewhere along the way, we stopped actually listening to it.

I’m not talking about private devotions—though those matter. I’m not talking about small group Bible studies—though those are valuable. I’m talking about something we’ve almost entirely lost in our culture: the public, corporate, sustained reading of Scripture in our worship gatherings.

Walk into most evangelical churches today and you’ll find maybe five minutes of Scripture reading—usually just the sermon text, maybe a responsive reading if the church is more traditional. Then we move on to the “real” content of the service: the music, the announcements, the sermon.

Here’s the uncomfortable truth: We’ve turned God’s word into the opening act for the preacher.

But what if I told you that in both the Old and New Testaments, the public reading of Scripture wasn’t the warm-up? What if the reading itself was understood as God’s own voice speaking to His assembled people? What if the blessing, the power, the authority resided not just in the exposition but in the proclamation itself?

This morning we’re going to camp out in Nehemiah chapter 8. And I need to warn you right up front—this text is going to make us uncomfortable. Because it’s going to expose how impoverished our worship has become and how cavalier we’ve been with the greatest treasure we possess: the living, active, authoritative word of the living God.

Let me set the scene for you.

The year is approximately 445 BC. The walls of Jerusalem have just been rebuilt after seventy years of exile. Nehemiah, the governor, has led this massive reconstruction project against incredible opposition. The physical city is secure.

But here’s what Nehemiah understood that we often forget: Walls don’t make a people. Fortifications don’t create a community. You can rebuild every stone and still not have a city that honors God.

What makes a people? God’s word.

So in the seventh month, during the Feast of Booths, something extraordinary happens. And the way the text describes it tells us this isn’t incidental—this is paradigmatic. This is a moment when God’s people discover what it means to be constituted by divine speech.

Let me read verses 1 through 3:

“And all the people gathered as one man into the square before the Water Gate. And they told Ezra the scribe to bring the Book of the Law of Moses that the LORD had commanded Israel. So Ezra the priest brought the Law before the assembly, both men and women and all who could understand what they heard, on the first day of the seventh month. And he read from it facing the square before the Water Gate from early morning until midday, in the presence of the men and the women and those who could understand. And the ears of all the people were attentive to the Book of the Law.”

Did you catch that? “All the people gathered as one man.” This wasn’t a specialized clergy event. This wasn’t just for the educated elite. Men, women, “all who could understand”—which includes children old enough to comprehend.

And here’s the stunning detail: Ezra read “from early morning until midday.” That’s approximately six hours of sustained public Scripture reading.

When’s the last time you heard a six-hour sermon? When’s the last time you even heard a one-hour sermon without checking your watch or your phone?

And here’s what floors me: The text says “the ears of all the people were attentive to the Book of the Law.” For six hours. They didn’t get bored. They didn’t drift off. They didn’t need a video illustration or a worship song break to regain their attention.

Why? Because they understood something we’ve forgotten: When Scripture is read publicly in the assembly of God’s people, God Himself is speaking.

This morning I want to unfold three massive truths from this text that should fundamentally reshape how we think about Scripture, how we structure our worship, and how we prepare our hearts when we gather as God’s people.

Here’s the first truth:

God Speaks Through Public Reading

Look at what happens in verses 4 and 5:

“And Ezra the scribe stood on a wooden platform that they had made for the purpose. And he stood beside him… And Ezra opened the book in the sight of all the people, for he was above all the people, and as he opened it all the people stood.”

There’s a platform. The Hebrew word is migdal—literally “tower.” They didn’t just pull up a chair. They constructed an elevated platform specifically for this purpose.

Why does this matter?

Because the platform served two functions: practical and theological.

Practically, it was about acoustics. Six thousand people (or more) needed to hear. No sound systems. No wireless microphones. Just one voice projecting across a crowd. The elevation helped.

But here’s the theological significance: The elevated platform signified the authority and dignity of what was being read. This wasn’t Ezra’s opinions. This wasn’t his commentary. This was the word of the covenant Lord of Israel, and the physical setup proclaimed that truth.

Think about how royal decrees were read in the ancient world. When a king’s messenger arrived in a city, he didn’t huddle in a corner and whisper the message. He stood in the public square, elevated if possible, and proclaimed the king’s edict with full authority.

That’s what’s happening here. God is the King. His word is the royal decree. The elevated platform declares: “What you’re about to hear isn’t human wisdom—it’s divine revelation.”

And look at the people’s response: “As he opened it all the people stood.”

They didn’t stand for Ezra. They stood for the book. They stood because they recognized that when the Torah was opened and read, the living God was addressing them.

You see, this is what we’ve lost. We treat the reading of Scripture as preliminary to the sermon. The reading is what we do to get to the preaching. But that’s backwards.

The reading is the primary event. The exposition serves the reading, not the other way around.

Listen to how Paul puts it in 1 Timothy 4:13. He’s writing to young Timothy, who’s leading the church in Ephesus, and he says:

“Until I come, devote yourself to the public reading of Scripture, to exhortation, to teaching.”

Notice the order. Reading comes first. Then exhortation. Then teaching.

Why? Because the reading establishes divine authority. When we read Scripture publicly in the gathered assembly, we’re not relaying secondhand information about God. We’re mediating God’s own voice to His people.

The exhortation then applies the moral weight of what was read. The teaching explains the theological coherence of what was read. But both exhortation and teaching depend on the authoritative reading.

Put it this way: When I preach, I’m giving you my best understanding of God’s word under the illumination of the Spirit. And you should test everything I say against Scripture. I could be wrong. I could misinterpret. I could emphasize the wrong things.

But when we read Scripture itself—when we simply proclaim what God has said—that carries an authority my preaching never can. The text itself is living and active. The text itself is breathed out by God. The text itself accomplishes what God intends.

Isaiah 55:11 says it this way:

“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.”

God’s word has inherent power. When it’s read, it works. It doesn’t need my cleverness. It doesn’t need my illustrations. It doesn’t need me to make it relevant.

Now, I know what some of you are thinking: “But didn’t Jesus Himself preach and teach? Didn’t the apostles exposit and explain?”

Absolutely. And we’ll get to that in a minute. But notice what Jesus did in the synagogue in Nazareth. Luke 4, verses 16 and following:

“And he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up. And as was his custom, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day, and he stood up to read. And the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him. He unrolled the scroll and found the place where it was written…”

What was Jesus’ custom? Public reading of Scripture in the assembly. He participates in the normative pattern of worship: Scripture is read aloud to the gathered people.

And then—after reading—He interprets: “Today this Scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

The reading came first. The interpretation followed. The reading established what God had said. The interpretation showed how it applied.

Let me illustrate this with a story from church history.

In 1521, Martin Luther was kidnapped. Well, technically he was “kidnapped”—his friends staged it to protect him after he was declared an outlaw by the Holy Roman Emperor for refusing to recant his teachings.

They hid him in Wartburg Castle, and for ten months Luther lived in a small room under an assumed name. And what did he do with those ten months? He translated the New Testament from Greek into German.

Why does this matter? Because for centuries, the Bible had been locked away in Latin—a language most people didn’t understand. The Mass was in Latin. The Bible reading was in Latin. The people heard sounds, but they didn’t hear words. They heard syllables, but they didn’t hear God.

Luther believed that if people could hear the Scripture in their own language—not just a summary or a paraphrase, but the actual text—God would speak directly to their hearts.

And he was right. When the German New Testament was published in 1522, it became an instant bestseller. Suddenly, ordinary Germans could hear God’s word in their own tongue. They could understand what God had said, not just what the priest said about God.

That’s the power of public reading. When God’s word is proclaimed in language people can understand, God speaks. Not through a mediator. Not through a professional interpreter. God Himself addresses His people through His own word.

Now, here’s the question: If public Scripture reading is so central, if it’s God’s own voice to His people, why do we give it so little attention in our worship?

I think there are several reasons. One is pragmatic: We’re in a hurry. We’ve got a schedule to keep. If we read long passages, we’ll lose people’s attention. Better to keep it snappy and move on.

Another reason is cultural: We live in a sound-bite world. TikTok videos. Instagram reels. Twitter threads. We’ve trained ourselves to process information in tiny chunks. Extended attention feels unnatural.

But here’s the deepest reason, and it’s theological: We don’t really believe that the reading itself is powerful. We think the power is in the preaching. We think people need our explanation, our application, our illustration—and sure, those things help. But we’ve subtly shifted from “God’s word is living and active” to “My sermon is what really matters.”

That’s not just unbiblical. It’s dangerous. Because it puts the preacher at the center instead of the text. It makes worship about human performance instead of divine speech.

Nehemiah 8 reorients us. The platform—the migdal—reminds us that public reading is a high and holy task. The people standing reminds us that reverence is the appropriate response. The six hours of sustained attention reminds us that God’s word is worth our time.

So what does this mean for us practically?

It means we need to recover the centrality of public Scripture reading in our worship. Not as a ritual. Not as filler. But as the moment when God speaks to His gathered people.

It means preparing readers well—because if public reading is God’s voice, then those who read should do so with skill, clarity, and reverence. This isn’t a throwaway task to assign to whoever shows up early. This deserves preparation and prayer.

It means reading longer passages—not just the sermon text, but whole chapters, whole narratives, whole arguments. Let people hear the flow of Scripture, not just isolated verses.

And it means cultivating congregational attentiveness. The text says “the ears of all the people were attentive to the Book of the Law.” That’s not passive. That’s active listening. That’s leaning in. That’s expecting to hear God.

When we gather for worship, we should come hungry. Not for the music. Not for the preaching. For the word. Because that’s where God speaks.

Here’s the second truth:

Public Reading Requires Understanding

Now, you might be thinking: “Okay, if public reading is so powerful, why do we need preaching at all? Why not just read the Bible and go home?”

Great question. And Nehemiah 8 gives us the answer. Look at verse 8:

“They read from the book, from the Law of God, clearly, and they gave the sense, so that the people understood the reading.”

This verse is packed with exegetical gold. Let me unpack it for you.

First, “they read from the book.” The Hebrew word is qara’—it means to call out, to proclaim, to read aloud. This is public, oral, vocalized reading. Not silent. Not private. Out loud, to the assembly.

Second, “clearly.” The Hebrew word is mephorash. And here’s where scholars debate. Some think it means “with translation”—Hebrew into Aramaic, since many post-exilic Jews spoke Aramaic as their primary language. Others think it means “with distinct enunciation”—careful pronunciation, proper pacing. Still others think it means “section by section”—reading in manageable chunks.

The debate is interesting, but here’s what everyone agrees on: The point was intelligibility. The people needed to understand what was being read, not just hear sounds.

Third, “they gave the sense.” The Hebrew phrase is som sekel—literally “they put understanding” or “they gave insight.” This is interpretive work. The Levites didn’t just repeat the text. They explained it. They applied it. They helped people grasp what it meant.

And here’s the result: “So that the people understood the reading.”

Understanding. That’s the goal. Not just hearing. Not just emotional experience. Not just ritual participation. Comprehension.

You see, God’s word is authoritative, but it’s not always self-explanatory. Sometimes the historical context needs clarification. Sometimes the theological connections need drawing out. Sometimes the application needs making explicit.

That’s why reading and teaching go together. The reading conveys authority—this is what God said. The teaching conveys understanding—this is what God means.

Think about it like this: When a Supreme Court justice issues a ruling, that ruling has full legal authority the moment it’s published. But then legal scholars write articles explaining what the ruling means, how it applies, what precedents it sets. The ruling doesn’t need the explanation to be authoritative. But the explanation is necessary for people to understand and obey.

That’s the relationship between reading and exposition. The text has inherent authority. But understanding often requires explanation.

Nehemiah 8 shows us this beautiful partnership. Verse 7 lists thirteen Levites by name—these are the ones who “helped the people to understand the Law, while the people remained in their places.”

Picture this: Ezra reads from the platform. Then the Levites move through the crowd, section by section, explaining what was just read. “You heard this. Here’s what it means. Here’s how it applies. Here’s what God requires.”

They’re not adding to the text. They’re not imposing foreign interpretations. They’re drawing out the text’s inherent meaning and helping people connect the dots.

This is the model for faithful exposition. The preacher’s job isn’t to be clever or entertaining. The preacher’s job is to say clearly what the text says and help people understand what it means and how it applies.

Let me illustrate this with another story from church history—one that still gives me chills every time I read it.

In 1536, William Tyndale was strangled and burned at the stake outside Brussels. His crime? Translating the Bible into English and distributing it to common people.

As the flames rose around him, Tyndale’s last words were a prayer: “Lord, open the King of England’s eyes.”

What was Tyndale’s vision? That every plowboy in England would be able to read Scripture in his own language. Not Latin. Not Greek. English. The language of the common people.

Tyndale believed that if people could read and understand God’s word for themselves, reformation would follow. Not because of human persuasion. Not because of political maneuvering. But because God’s word, when understood, is powerful enough to change hearts.

And he was right. Within three years of his death, King Henry VIII authorized the Great Bible—an English translation largely based on Tyndale’s work—to be placed in every parish church in England.

Suddenly, English-speaking people could hear Scripture in their own language. They could understand what God had said. And when they understood, they believed. When they believed, they obeyed. When they obeyed, they were transformed.

That’s what happens when public reading is combined with clear explanation. Understanding leads to faith. Faith leads to obedience. Obedience leads to transformation.

But here’s the flip side: If we read without explaining, or if we explain without reading, we miss the mark.

Read without explaining and you might have authority, but you won’t have understanding. People will hear words but miss meaning. That’s what Jesus condemned in the Pharisees—they knew the text but missed the point.

Explain without reading and you might have ideas, but you won’t have authority. Your words become one opinion among many. That’s what’s happened in much of liberal Protestantism—lots of commentary, not much Scripture. And when the text loses its central place, theology drifts.

Nehemiah 8 holds them together. Reading and explaining. Authority and clarity. The text and the teaching.

So what does this mean for us practically?

First, it means we need to prioritize understanding, not just information transfer. It’s not enough to read the text and move on. We need to ask: Did people grasp what God is saying here? Do they understand the context? Do they see the connections?

Second, it means those who teach need to be faithful to the text. Not clever. Not entertaining. Faithful. The goal isn’t to showcase your homiletical skills. The goal is to help people understand what God has said.

Third, it means those who listen need to engage actively. The text says the Levites “helped the people to understand.” But understanding requires two parties: a skilled teacher and an attentive learner. You can’t understand something you’re not paying attention to.

When you come to church, come with your mind engaged. Bring your Bible. Take notes. Ask questions later. Don’t just consume passively. Wrestle actively with what God is saying.

Because here’s the thing: Understanding isn’t just intellectual. It’s existential. When you truly understand what God has said, it changes you.

Which leads to the third truth:

Hearing God’s Word Produces Transformation

Look at what happens in verses 9 through 12. This is where the text gets really interesting:

“And Nehemiah, who was the governor, and Ezra the priest and scribe, and the Levites who taught the people said to all the people, ‘This day is holy to the LORD your God; do not mourn or weep.’ For all the people wept as they heard the words of the Law. Then he said to them, ‘Go your way. Eat the fat and drink sweet wine and send portions to anyone who has nothing ready, for this day is holy to our Lord. And do not be grieved, for the joy of the LORD is your strength.’ So the Levites calmed all the people, saying, ‘Be quiet, for this day is holy; do not be grieved.’ And all the people went their way to eat and drink and to send portions and to make great rejoicing, because they had understood the words that were declared to them.”

I want you to catch the emotional trajectory here. It’s stunning.

First, the people weep. “All the people wept as they heard the words of the Law.”

Why are they weeping? Because they understood. When they heard God’s law—His commands, His standards, His requirements—they saw how far they had fallen. They saw their failure. They saw their sin. And it broke them.

This isn’t generic emotion. This isn’t sentimental tears during a worship song. This is conviction. This is godly sorrow. This is people confronting the gap between who God is and who they are.

And here’s what’s remarkable: The leaders have to tell them to stop mourning. “This day is holy to the LORD your God; do not mourn or weep.”

When’s the last time that happened in your church? When’s the last time the congregation was so convicted by Scripture that the pastor had to say, “Okay, that’s enough weeping—let’s move to celebration”?

Most of the time we have the opposite problem. We read Scripture and people remain unmoved. No conviction. No sorrow. No sense that God has spoken and I am accountable.

But here’s where the text takes a beautiful turn. After the weeping comes the joy.

Nehemiah tells them: “Go eat. Drink. Celebrate. Send portions to those who have nothing. Don’t be grieved—the joy of the LORD is your strength.”

And verse 12 says: “All the people went their way to eat and drink and to send portions and to make great rejoicing, because they had understood the words that were declared to them.”

Do you see it? Weeping first. Then joy. Conviction first. Then celebration.

Why? Because when you truly hear God’s word, you see both realities: your sin and God’s grace. The law shows you your failure. The gospel shows you God’s provision. Both responses are appropriate.

But here’s the key phrase in verse 12: “Because they had understood the words that were declared to them.”

Understanding produced transformation. Not just emotional response—though that came. But behavioral change. Look at what follows in verses 13 through 17:

“On the second day the heads of fathers’ houses of all the people, with the priests and the Levites, came together to Ezra the scribe in order to study the words of the Law. And they found it written in the Law that the LORD had commanded by Moses that the people of Israel should dwell in booths during the feast of the seventh month, and that they should proclaim it and publish it in all their towns and in Jerusalem, ‘Go out to the hills and bring branches of olive, wild olive, myrtle, palm, and other leafy trees to make booths, as it is written.’ So the people went out and brought them and made booths for themselves, each on his roof, and in their courts and in the courts of the house of God, and in the square at the Water Gate and in the square at the Gate of Ephraim. And all the assembly of those who had returned from the captivity made booths and lived in the booths, for from the days of Jeshua the son of Nun to that day the people of Israel had not done so. And there was very great rejoicing.”

This is absolutely stunning. The people hear the law. They understand the law. They discover that God commanded the Feast of Booths. And within days—not months, not years, but days—they’re building booths and celebrating the feast.

The text emphasizes: “From the days of Jeshua the son of Nun to that day the people of Israel had not done so.” That’s roughly a thousand years. For a millennium, Israel had neglected this command. But now, having heard and understood God’s word, they immediately obey.

That’s transformation. Not just intellectual assent. Not just emotional experience. Actual, concrete, life-altering obedience.

And notice what else happens. After the Feast of Booths, Nehemiah chapter 9 records a massive prayer of confession. The people rehearse Israel’s entire history—God’s faithfulness, their rebellion, God’s patience, their ingratitude. They own their corporate and personal sin.

Then in chapter 10, they make a covenant. They pledge to obey God’s law. They commit to specific, measurable reforms: no intermarriage with pagans, observe the Sabbath, support the temple, give tithes and offerings.

Do you see the pattern? Reading → Understanding → Conviction → Celebration → Obedience → Covenant Renewal.

That’s what happens when God’s word is central in the life of a community. It’s not just religious activity. It’s not just information transfer. It’s transformation.

Let me illustrate this with one more story—this one from American history.

In the 1730s and 40s, a movement swept through the American colonies called the Great Awakening. Preachers like Jonathan Edwards, George Whitefield, and Gilbert Tennent traveled from town to town, preaching to massive outdoor crowds.

But here’s what’s often overlooked: These preachers didn’t just give motivational talks. They read long passages of Scripture—sometimes entire chapters—and then expounded them verse by verse, phrase by phrase.

George Whitefield was famous for his dramatic public reading. He would read the biblical text with such passion and clarity that people would weep before he even started preaching. The Scripture itself—proclaimed with skill and anointed by the Spirit—did the work.

And the results? Thousands came to faith. Churches were planted. Social reforms followed—opposition to slavery, care for the poor, education for children. Dartmouth College, Princeton University, the University of Pennsylvania—all founded as a result of the Great Awakening.

Why? Because when people heard and understood God’s word, they were transformed. Not by human persuasion. Not by emotional manipulation. By the living, active, powerful word of God.

That’s what Hebrews 4:12 means when it says:

“For the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.”

God’s word doesn’t just inform. It penetrates. It discerns. It transforms.

But here’s the sobering reality: You can only be transformed by what you understand. You can only obey what you’ve heard. You can only apply what you’ve grasped.

That’s why the public reading of Scripture, combined with faithful explanation, is so crucial. It’s not just about education. It’s not just about inspiration. It’s about transformation.

So what does this mean for us practically?

First, expect to be changed when you hear God’s word. Don’t come to church looking for entertainment or affirmation. Come expecting God to speak, to convict, to comfort, to command. Come ready to respond.

Second, move from hearing to doing. James 1:22 says, “Be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves.” It’s not enough to understand. Obedience is the goal.

Third, let Scripture shape your community, not just your individual life. Nehemiah 8 wasn’t about personal devotions. It was about corporate transformation. When a church is saturated in Scripture—when the word is read, explained, and obeyed—the entire community changes.

The Blessing and the Charge

Let me bring this home.

Turn with me to Revelation 1:3. John is writing to seven churches in Asia Minor, and he begins his apocalyptic vision with a beatitude:

“Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear, and who keep what is written in it, for the time is near.”

Notice: Two blessings. One for the reader. One for the hearers.

Why? Because both are participating in a sacred act. The reader proclaims God’s word to the assembly. The hearers receive it with faith and obedience.

This isn’t a private blessing. This isn’t about your personal quiet time—though that matters. This is a corporate blessing pronounced on the public reading and hearing of Scripture in the gathered assembly.

And here’s the crucial phrase: “Blessed are those who hear, and who keep what is written in it.”

Hearing plus keeping. Reception plus obedience. Understanding plus transformation.

That’s the pattern we’ve seen all morning. Reading leads to understanding. Understanding leads to response. Response leads to transformation. Transformation leads to blessing.

So here’s my challenge to you this morning:

Will you be a people of the Book?

Not just a people who own Bibles. Not just a people who quote Scripture or defend its inerrancy. But a people who actually listen to it, understand it, obey it, and are transformed by it?

Because here’s the promise: Where God’s word is central, God’s people flourish.

Look at Nehemiah 8 again. When the word was read and understood, what followed?

Conviction and joy. Obedience and celebration. Confession and covenant renewal. Personal transformation and community formation.

That’s what happens when Scripture is central.

But here’s the warning: When we marginalize God’s word—when we reduce it to sound bites and sermon illustrations, when we give it five minutes and move on to the “important” stuff—we starve our souls and weaken our churches.

We might have great music. We might have excellent programs. We might have impressive buildings. But if the word isn’t central, we don’t have a church. We have a religious club.

So let me be practical for a moment. What would it look like for us to recover the centrality of public Scripture reading?

First, we’d need to lengthen our public readings. Not just the sermon text, but whole chapters, whole narratives, whole arguments. Let people hear the flow and rhythm of Scripture.

Second, we’d need to train our readers. Public reading is a skill. It requires preparation, practice, and prayerfulness. If it’s God’s voice to His people, we should do it well.

Third, we’d need to cultivate congregational attentiveness. That starts with expectation—come believing God will speak—and continues with discipline—put away distractions, engage your mind, listen actively.

Fourth, we’d need to prioritize exposition that serves the text. The sermon exists to explain what was read, not the other way around. Let the text set the agenda.

And fifth, we’d need to move from hearing to doing. Every time we gather, we should ask: What is God saying? How does He want me to respond? What needs to change in my life?

Friends, we live in a time when people are starving for truth. They’re drowning in information but desperate for wisdom. They’re overwhelmed by opinions but longing for authority.

We have the answer. It’s not a program. It’s not a methodology. It’s not better marketing or cooler music.

It’s the living, active, powerful, authoritative word of the living God.

When God speaks, everything changes. Hearts are convicted. Lives are transformed. Communities are renewed. And God is glorified.

That’s what happened in Nehemiah 8. That’s what can happen today.

But it requires something from us: Reverence. Attention. Obedience. Faith.

Will you listen when God speaks?

Will you understand what He says?

Will you obey what you hear?

Because here’s the promise: Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear, and who keep what is written in it.

The blessing is available. The power is present. The word is living and active.

The question is: Will we be a people who listen?