Two weeks ago I confessed how talking about justice issues can make feel uncomfortable, partly because I do not feel fully equipped, and partly because it can rock the boat. Yet, at times, doing so is compelling, and God always pulls us out of our comfort zones while promising to be with us for the journey.

My confession this week was that I knew nothing about Juneteenth until I was ordained and serving in a parish in Philadelphia. Juneteenth, the June 19th celebration of the freeing of the last enslaved people in 1865, is a major festival in Philly and elsewhere. However, I grew up in South Carolina. Juneteenth was never mentioned, even in school history classes. While we were never fed any garbage trying to excuse slavery or minimize its impact, we never explored the experience of slavery from the viewpoint of an enslaved person or their descendants.