Juneteenth passed this week with no public celebration, no bounce house or water slide. All was quiet as if it didn't exist. Some of you may wonder what Juneteenth is, being a white northerner here I didn't know either. The story is beautiful because it is a story of freedom. It is when slaves learned they were free people.

I love stories of freedom, I mean true freedom stories. One in which the person doesn't think they'll ever be free, one in which they barely escape with their life. That is how I became free from an abusive relationship. The courts, police those who you think would do so much to protect you do little until it might be too late. January 17, 1997 is my freedom day. It was the day my then husband threatened to hunt me down and kill me. Right after court was over in the dark at 7pm I threw things into my van and drove away. I didn't know how long they would keep him in jail, I knew they had just given him all of his 13 guns back, I didn't know if I had grabbed enough, I didn't know what I would do for money, I at least knew I had a roof over my head in a place far away where someone had promised me shelter. Freedom stories touch my heart.

It is not just the story alone, but how the story intertwines with faith stories. How in order to gain our life we must lose it which is this weeks gospel from Matthew 10:24-39. Or the fact that Jesus recognizes all the people in the forgotten outcast quarters, or the story of Exodus from Egypt without all their things. These stories of God's saving love are the deep roots of faith for me. This is why to me it is sad that Juneteenth passed in peace and quiet. There are others out there who still don't know their free.