The extraordinary claim of God's existence must be justified by extraordinary evidence. Awareness of god's existence doesn't count. 

Now Thomas (also known as Didymus, one of the Twelve, was not with the disciples when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord!” But he said to them, “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my finger where the nails were, and put my hand into his side, I will not believe. ”A week later his disciples were in the house again, and Thomas was with them. Though the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you!” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here; see my hands. Reach out your hand and put it into my side. Stop doubting and believe.” (John 20:24-27)

I do not make a claim regarding God's existence.

Claim [kleym] verb (used with object) 1. to demand by or as by virtue of a right; demand as a right or as due: to claim an estate by inheritance. 2. to assert and demand the recognition of (a right, title, possession, etc.); assert one's right to: to claim payment for services. 3. to assert or maintain as a fact: She claimed that he was telling the truth. 4. to require as due or fitting: to claim respect.

I do assert and maintain that God exists. But I cannot demonstrate a factual basis for this assertion. I do not demand or require that others share my perception of God's existence.

I would, if under attack, argue it is fitting for others to respect my sense of God's existence; but I do not claim any extraordinary privilege for religious belief over other beliefs or non-belief.

At dinner on Tuesday there were twelve of us around a large round table.  It was a mix of friends, colleagues, and the practically unknown.  Prompted by a colleague's sweet story of childhood memories of attending an Episcopal Church, I shared my own story.

I was in Philadelphia on Good Friday and chose to attend the noon service at a very high Episcopal church.

Over dinner I included more description and flourishes than I will here.  It was a beautifully austere liturgy reaching it's climax with a congregational procession to a very large crucifix before which we each kneeled or prostrated ourselves three times.  Then each person kissed the feet of Jesus.

This was a first-time experience for me.  I am not sure how I was heard.  But my intent was to communicate it as someone might tell the story of encountering an exotically beautiful, never-before-seen creature.

One of my friends immediate response was to ask, "Did they wash the feet between kisses?"

"No," I answered, "I guess I should have air-kissed his feet" and I mimicked kissing over our Chinese food.  Most of the table laughed.

But one man did not laugh.  He told me later my attitude disturbed him.  He had worked through the noon-hour on Good Friday and admired, perhaps envied, my piety.  But I seemed to be treating Jesus hanging on the cross as a joke.

Someone once called me a connoisseur of worship.  I hope so.  I love good food.  It makes me happy, especially to share, and often encourages laughter.  In December I attended a fabulous opera at Lincoln Center. The music and message was meaningful. It was also surprisingly funny.  I "attend" museums and galleries as much as church, some weeks more.  Fine, silly and weird art inspires me, opens me, and I often laugh in appreciation.

Each of these experiences can also cause me to sigh, occasionally to weep.  In all beauty there is an exquisite, fragile mystery.

From The Crucifixion by El Greco.