You Look Like You’re Having a Great Morning

I’ve started a little experiment. Instead of asking people, “How are you?” I sometimes say, “You look like you’re having a great morning.” I say it cheerfully, without a hint of sarcasm. And I fully expect to be wrong. About half the time, people smile and agree. The other half give me a little smirk and say, “Actually, not really.” And that’s when things get interesting.

Sometimes they tell me about a difficult day at work, a family problem, or something weighing on their minds. What began as a passing greeting becomes a real conversation. Instead of offering the usual “Hope things get better,” I can offer encouragement that speaks to what they’re actually going through. Sometimes we just laugh. Sometimes the conversation lasts thirty seconds. Sometimes it goes much deeper.

I’ve come to believe that almost any moment can become a pastoral moment. That may sound exhausting, especially coming from a rabbi. But it isn’t. I’m not trying to fix everyone or take responsibility for their happiness. I’m simply interested in the person standing in front of me.

We spend much of our day interacting with people without really encountering them. We exchange information, conduct business, make polite conversation, and move along. There’s nothing wrong with any of that. But occasionally, something different happens. Two people step beyond their usual roles and actually meet.

The Jewish philosopher Martin Buber described this distinction in his famous work I and Thou. We can relate to people as objects in our world, defined by what they do for us or how they fit into our plans. Or we can encounter them as human beings, with lives as real and complicated as our own. Buber believed that in these genuine encounters, we can experience something of the divine.

I think about that when I read the opening of this week’s Torah portion, Vayeira. The Torah begins with a remarkable statement: “And God appeared to Abraham.” We might expect a dramatic revelation, a voice from heaven, or some extraordinary spiritual experience. Instead, Abraham is sitting at the entrance of his tent in the heat of the day. He lifts his eyes and sees three men standing nearby. God appears, and Abraham sees people. Only later does the Torah identify the visitors as angels.

Abraham doesn’t need to know who they are before giving them his attention. He sees three apparently ordinary people, and what follows becomes part of a divine encounter. We tend to think of spiritual experiences as moments that take us out of ordinary life. Abraham’s experience takes him deeper into it. We look for God in prayer, worship, study, or moments of inspiration. Yet we can move through an entire day barely noticing the people around us.

And the consequences go beyond our individual spiritual lives. Every family, workplace, congregation, and community develops a culture. Some become places where people can speak honestly, admit they’re struggling, and still feel welcomed. Others become places where everyone learns to say what they’re supposed to say.

Think about a workplace where employees are afraid to tell the boss the truth, or a family where people hide their troubles because they don’t want to upset anyone. Everyone may appear pleasant, but underneath the politeness, something essential is missing: trust.

When people feel they must hide what they’re really thinking or experiencing, relationships become more guarded, and genuine understanding becomes harder. Trust grows through countless small encounters, when people discover they can be themselves without being judged or dismissed. A greeting, a question, a few minutes of listening, a shared laugh. Multiply those moments across a family, a workplace, or a neighborhood, and they begin to shape the kind of society we live in.

None of this requires us to become amateur therapists or solve everyone else’s problems. Sometimes the most generous thing we can offer is simply our genuine interest, without an agenda.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll probably tell someone they look like they’re having a wonderful day. They may smile, or they may tell me I’m wrong. Either way, I’ll be glad to hear what they have to say.