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A few years ago I watched an interview on T.V. one evening with a well-known professor of philosophy who had just published his most recent book. The topic for discussion on this religious affairs program was that of Faith and Spirituality, and the professor being interviewed was also a priest who belonged to a religious community. During the course of the interview the presenter asked his guest a rather simple but loaded question. He asked him if he believed in God. To which the slightly bemused professor answered: 'No. . .I do not believe in God: I know God.'

This answer, I suggest, revealed something very personal and deep about this man's relationship with God. It revealed that, as a philosophy professor he did not need to draw on any of the elaborate and eloquent theories at his disposal proving the existence of God, but rather as a person in relationship with God he had moved into a deep and tender knowing of his creator - a knowing that was too deep and wide for words.

James Joyce, one of the 20th century's finest writers, in one of his novels speaks of what he calls 'a moment of epiphany.' Now what Joyce meant by this was, that every once in a while we stumble on an experience or an encounter that takes us out of ourselves and into a place of silent awe, wonder and understanding - but understanding like never before. It could be as simple as suddenly noticing the beauty of sunlight steaming through the treetops. But we feel no desire to possess this gift, because it's beauty and grace has arrested us in silence. And we know we are in the presence of the sublime.

In our second reading today from the Letter to the Romans, Paul, in awe and thanksgiving, proclaims a hymn of praise to the greatness, wisdom and mercy of God. His poetic rendition concludes with this profound thought: Everything that exists comes from God, was created by God, and gives glory to God. This beautiful proclamation is a testament to how deeply Paul had come to know God. But this knowing came only after much fumbling, searching and suffering culminating in his Damascus experience.

How well can any of us say that we truly know our loving and creator God? Sure, we can claim to know all kinds of things about God, especially as they are revealed through the teachings of Jesus, or from our reading and study. But how well do we actually know the God who loves us and delights in us? Do we see God's fingerprint in our everyday lives? Do we always acknowledge the sacred origin of all things? Where are we on our journey to knowing God?

Do we ever stop to consider and savor in our loving, friendships, sexuality, community and work the power, beauty and pure pleasure of life? I think if we did we would realize that, yes, all of this indeed comes from God and all of this is pure gift and is good and holy and pleasing to God.

Do we ever stop to consider how God delights in all of his creation? That God's heart dances with joy at the very thought of each one of us? That in God's eyes we are brimming with promise and possibility? That in God's eyes we are immeasurably and unconditionally loveable? And that in God's eyes we are infinitely forgivable no matter how badly we get it wrong?

Our Christian faith teaches us that our world is holy, that everything is sacramental. In its view, the universe is a manifestation of God's glory and humanity is made in God's image. Our bodies are temples of the Holy Spirit and everything from our eating, work and sexual relations makes us co-creators with God. But, I think, a lot of the time we do not connect all of these things to their sacred origins - especially the gift of life itself. Otherwise why would our world allow us to demean, tinker with and dispose of human life so easily?

As St. Paul's says: Everything that exists comes from God, was created by God, and gives glory to God. As we leave our Sunday liturgy today, let us feel deeply and take with us the deep truth that we, the world, and our lives are good, holy and pleasing to God. And that, despite our many faults, God's heart dances with joy at the very thought of each one of us.