The other day, my husband and I were driving along the highway when a large truck suddenly merged into our lane, cutting us off rather abruptly. Once the initial shock had passed, I found myself reading the advertisement plastered across the back of the truck. Except it wasn’t an advertisement. At least, not in the traditional sense. Printed across the back was Psalm 100, Mizmor L’Todah, a psalm of thanksgiving. I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. A truck had nearly caused us to have an accident, and there I was, reading a prayer of gratitude to God. Usually, the backs of trucks are valuable advertising space. Companies use them to promote everything from office supplies to grocery deliveries, complete with enormous phone numbers and catchy slogans. But this particular truck was advertising something entirely different. I thought to myself, what a clever marketing strategy by God.
And as it happens, the Book of Psalms has been very much on my mind lately. In Jewish tradition, when someone is ill or facing a difficult situation, one of the most common ways we turn to God is through Tehillim, the Hebrew name for the Book of Psalms. Families, friends, and sometimes entire communities divide up the 150 psalms among themselves, working together to complete the entire book in the merit of someone who desperately needs our prayers. Then they begin again. And again. For as long as necessary. Right now, my community is doing exactly that for a close relative of mine.
There is a WhatsApp group dedicated to coordinating these prayers, with people signing up to recite different chapters throughout the day and night. This morning, I woke up to more than 400 new messages. Four hundred! In the six hours I had been asleep, the group had completed the Book of Psalms at least two and a half times. Think about that for a moment. Hundreds of individual prayers, offered by people in different countries, different time zones, and different stages of their ordinary daily routines. Somewhere, someone was sitting at a kitchen table. Someone else was riding a train. Someone had perhaps just put their children to bed. And all of them were taking a few minutes to turn to God on behalf of someone else. As I’ve been participating, I’ve found myself reading through portions of Tehillim that I might not otherwise have opened that day. And something occurred to me. In a way, we’re reading King David’s personal diary. Of course, not every psalm was written by David. Other voices are represented throughout the collection. But so much of the Book of Psalms is traditionally attributed to him, and so many of its chapters feel remarkably personal.
I began imagining what those entries might have looked like if David had kept an actual diary.
Dear Diary,
Today I’m hiding in a cave because King Saul wants me dead. I’m frightened, exhausted, and I have absolutely no idea how I’m going to get out of this situation. God, please help me.
And then, perhaps, another entry:
Dear Diary,
Today I looked out over the hills and was overwhelmed by the beauty of God’s creation. How extraordinary that the One who made all of this should concern Himself with someone as insignificant as me.
There are psalms of joy, psalms of gratitude, psalms of anger, psalms of fear, and psalms that seem to contain several of these emotions all at once. David doesn’t always sound like a man whose faith comes easily. Sometimes he questions. Sometimes he pleads. Sometimes he sounds almost desperate for God to answer him. And yet, he keeps speaking to God. I think that’s part of what makes Tehillim so enduring. People still read Shakespeare’s love sonnets centuries after they were written, not because they share his particular circumstances or even speak the same version of English, but because the emotions underneath the language are immediately recognizable. Love, longing, jealousy, grief. These experiences don’t become obsolete.
Neither do fear, hope, gratitude, or the desperate desire for someone we love to be healed. The circumstances of David’s life are far removed from ours. Most of us will never flee an angry king or hide from enemies in the Judean wilderness. But we know what it feels like to be frightened. We know what it means to wait for news, to feel helpless, to wonder what tomorrow will bring.
And sometimes, when those feelings are overwhelming, finding the right words to pray can be surprisingly difficult. That’s when David’s words become our own. Judaism gives us many ways to speak to God. We have the structured prayers we recite each day, and we have the freedom to approach Him in our own words. But the Book of Psalms offers something special: a language that has already made room for nearly every human emotion. We don’t have to pretend to be confident when we’re afraid, or grateful when we’re grieving. We can come to God with whatever we’re carrying, just as David did. And perhaps that’s why I find the WhatsApp group so moving. Every person is reading a different chapter, encountering a different moment of David’s relationship with God. Some are reading words of praise. Others are reading cries for rescue. Still others are reading verses of bewilderment, loneliness, or hope.
Yet somehow, all those different words become one collective prayer. I’ve been thinking again about that truck and its rather unexpected message of thanksgiving.
It’s easy to understand why someone would choose to display those words publicly. Gratitude is a beautiful thing to advertise. But what makes Tehillim so extraordinary is that it doesn’t stop at gratitude. It also gives us words for the moments when we are frightened, uncertain, or unable to see how things will turn out. Thousands of years after David first raised his voice to God, we are still raising ours through his words. Sometimes with thanksgiving. Sometimes with tears. Sometimes with both.
And the conversation continues.
