King David certainly felt that way. It's fascinating to delve into how he grappled with this, as explored in Midrash Tehillim, a collection of interpretive commentaries on the Book of Psalms.
The passage we're looking at centers on the phrase "On the day that God saved him." But what day are we talking about? The Midrash offers a stunning interpretation: It’s the day David fully realized the depth of God's righteousness, so much so that he felt compelled to praise God with every fiber of his being.
The Midrash draws a beautiful picture of David, not just offering a simple prayer, but engaging his entire body in devotion. He didn't allow any part of himself to dishonor God. On the contrary! He used every limb, every faculty, to sing God's praises.
Think about it. "My head will be saturated with oil," David sings in Psalm 23:5. The Midrash understands this as David using his very head to praise God. And his eyes? "My eyes are ever towards the Lord" (Psalm 25:15). He focused his gaze, his very vision, on the divine. His mouth, of course, spoke of God's righteousness: "My mouth shall tell of Your righteousness" (Psalm 71:15).
It goes even deeper. His tongue meditated on God's words, as Psalm 35:28 says: "And my tongue shall meditate on Your righteousness." His throat grew hoarse from calling out, as hinted at in Psalm 69:4: "My throat is parched." His lips rejoiced in speaking of God: "My lips shall sing Your praise" (Psalm 71:23). And his heart and flesh? They "sing for joy to the living God," as we read in Psalm 84:3.
It’s a powerful image, isn’t it? Every part of David consumed by praise. The Midrash continues, summarizing this total devotion: David praised God with all his bones, "All my bones shall say, 'Lord, who is like You?'" (Psalm 35:10). His very neshama (soul) blessed God: "Bless the Lord, O my soul" (Psalm 104:1). And his ruach (spirit) praised Him: "Let every soul praise the Lord" (Psalm 150:6).
But here's the kicker. Even after all this, after engaging his entire being in praise, David still felt it wasn't enough. He still felt the inadequacy, the inability to fully express the immensity of God's righteousness. "My mouth shall tell of Your righteousness…" he says, almost trailing off, acknowledging the limitations of even the most fervent expression.
What does this tell us? Perhaps it's a reminder that our attempts to connect with the Divine, however wholehearted, are always just a beginning. Maybe it's an invitation to be present, to engage fully, and to recognize that even in our most profound moments of connection, there's always more to experience, more to understand, more to express. And maybe, just maybe, that striving is what truly matters.