It can feel like a great sacrifice, writing to be read. But the reader makes a sacrifice too.
You have to turn yourself away from some people and toward some others. You have to reach beyond your own intuitive logic to write clearly, comprehensively and methodically so that a stranger, without direct access to your brain or your nonverbals, can comprehend what you’re suggesting and interact meaningfully with it. You have to cut material that is personally important but, to the reader, irrelevant. You have to include material that seems to you superfluous but will help the reader warm to you and enter more fully into your content. You have to subject yourself to the scrutiny of often harsh critics.
In these ways and more, reading can feel like a great sacrifice. Every covenant involves sacrifice, though, so why should the author-reader covenant be any different? Not all writing or reading achieves this covenantal status, but we do well to expect it and aspire to it when we choose what we read or what we write.
At the most basic, a reader sacrifices time and money, to acquire and read what you’ve written. Beyond that, a reader often stretches beyond comfort or current capacity to learn something new or be confronted with something different. Or a reader endures bad prose to get to a good point. Or a reader endures the mockery or even scorn of other readers who have rejected the credibility of the author they’ve chosen to read.