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Pastor's Message Life can get to be pretty complicated especially when we momentarily think of all of the competing voices and everything else that runs around us, and sometimes seem to run over us. A lot of life is like driving down the parkway, and if we think of summer, and perhaps we think of the shore, the parkway is the last hurdle to overcome to get to a place of rest, and back to the basics of life. The basic need of life in the summer is to find rest, so that our souls can be renewed. I personally find ministry to be wonderful, and one of the primary reasons has to do with meeting people. There is nothing more amazing than to meet just one other person, and to have the underlying feeling that here, standing or sitting before me, is a representation of the pinnacle of God’s creation. At this time of year, I teach a class of young people who are part of the Communicant’s class. And as I have an opportunity of presenting the basics of the Christian Faith, I have an additional sense of wonder as we explore aspects of life experiences and attempt to make connections with God’s provision. I n the course of conversations about the basics, we have talked about rest, and about our souls, and about how we experience renewal for our souls. The 23rd Psalm has been our guide. “Does anyone tuck you into bed anymore, or read stories to you before you fall asleep?,” I recently asked. No one responded in the affirmative, but it was a recent enough experience, and it was still filled with strong and positive memories. We talked about the universal need for such experiences and the long history of fairy tale like stories that have supplied the ingredients for transitions from daytime activities to the inner receptivity of experiencing rest. “If you have become too old for this anymore, would you consider supplying this experience for yourself?,” I asked. “Of course” was the reply; who would not want to get back that feeling that we all have had when someone read a story to us that hovered between this world and some next more positive world? The more anyone reads and thinks about the 23rd Psalm, the more one realizes that this simple six-verse poem is just such an expression. It hovers between this world and the some next super-positive world. The images are both of this real world’s and of a wonderful world we need to believe in so that we can feel that we are persons in a world which knows and values us personally. In order to get to rest, we need to go through a story and an experience that is just like when we were children and someone read a tale to us. We need to know Our Shepherd is the personal author behind the story of our daily lives so that there is a known person who has been there for us. He has protected us, fed us, given us guidance so as to find the right way to live; He even gives us the feeling that someone else wants to attribute honor to us beyond what we can obtain for ourselves. If we won the lottery, and went on a cruise ship around the world, and there was no connection to a person who was behind this gift, there would be something important missing. It would be a nice experience, but it would not be a sweet experience. In order to get sweet dreams, in order to get sweet rest, we need a person to guide us there. In John 10, Jesus declares himself to be the supreme shepherd, being far more effective and powerful than other current religious alternatives. And He is to be the door into the place of rest. (The “fold” in verse 1 is the courtyard of a farmhouse, and hence the place of protection and consummate rest – the last definition of this world is the “palace” for a prince.) Wouldn’t the world be a better place if every single child in it was read a wonderful story each and every night? In just a single generation, this vast number of children might then be more able to cling to a more positive feel for the world we live in after they grow up. If no one reads to us before we go to bed, could we not figure out a way to read some part of the Bible, or something which would provide a more positive linkage between our need for rest, and our experience of rest? Actually, the entire Bible is full of pictures of rest, from Genesis to Revelation; here is a book to guide us into rest. I have recently tried to remember the words to Psalm 23 as I drift off to sleep. Let us find the rest we need for our souls this summer. Rev. John S. Naugle ************************************************************************************
The following essay was sent to the members of our church in recognition of Osceola’s 65th Anniversary. It is an eyewitness description of the evens of the new church’s groundbreaking day, “A Sunday in ’43.” The writer is Robert Miserentino, the son of Frank and Florence Miserentino, two of our charter members. Robert was just eight years old on that day 65 years ago, but it is obvious from his writing that even the children sensed the important of what was happening. Many of the details he includes in his tale show how times have changed, but our church lives on and the work of our Lord continues. Praise God! Rev. John S. Naugle ************************************************************************************ “A Sunday in ‘43” (Memories of Robert Miserentino) Mom and Dad were in their twenties. Dad was a nine year convert and a fervently saved individual. Mom’s family was for many generations Presbyterian. I was an eight year old, standing with the young boys after setting up the wooden folding chairs and passing out Cokesbury hymnals. We took our place regularly on the row in front of the girls. This time it was the front row, just back of the pianist. She urged us on and we became like a part of the dark, upright piano, stripped of any panels that would attenuate the sound. The worshippers kept coming down the sun beamed aisles to crowd the Community Hall at the end of Raritan Road, just before the curve. The Civic Club Building on Stiles Street was being recycled, for it was war time. The girls, including Doris, Jean, Jeanie, Dawn, Kay, Flo Anne, and others, filled the second row, and little boys like the twins and Tom joined Charlie, Dickey, Ray and me as we sang unrestrained. The song requests kept on delaying the words of the preacher. Eventually, the pastor slowly walked round the temporary pulpit and ended his talk with an invitation. After the service, there was heavy planning that occupied the men before we could go Messenger. The Miserentino children waited around the black ’34 Chevrolet sedan. Lunch at Messenger was normal, but prepared earlier, and after we were not allowed to drop our church clothes and roam freely. Instead, we loaded up and went past he ESSO Station at the Stiles Street intersection, and past the last of the Osceola Farm old mill, and over the Rahway river, crossing on the Raritan Road highway bridges. The raise on the second bring was high enough to see the cluttered, silent Osceola lot at the highest land to the south side. The volunteers had made major progress between the Manse and the old coach trail, now a horseback riding path. Dad pointed the care onto the grassy strip between the trees, over the soft edge of the road. Slowly, other people arrived. The formal ground breaking spot at the original front steps, located in the center would no longer do. Neither would the mess at the new front steps location. The heavily robed ministers took over by moving the symbolic site over to the Northeast, where there was overgrown grass, and the future site of a permanent sign. Cars and trucks were moved. The kids, playing quiet games lead by mothers, simply rotated attention toward the brass painted shovel. To make the background view better, more stuff was moved, and the last vehicles were moved across the street to the lane that horseback riders used to go north, past the second river dam and next to the Osceola Farm’s gardener’s house. For a few moments, the clouds allowed the warm sun to quiet everyone. The Bible-toter opened his worn book to have his notes blown away. He hesitated for a moment, making eye contact with a few at his feet who might chase his notes, then his grave face broadened. He showed why he was leader, by making the best and quickest decisions. He knew that the appearance of that moment would determine the banners and images that would lead those who faced the future. And he made up something for them while deacons chased his notes. “Go on!” he called. “These children will be the Christians that carry others through the torrents of wind to come.” He said, “God loves them as we should. He has saved plenty of the day for us.” The Lord commanded us through the speaker: “He gave His all, so now it is your turn to give Him a key that will make Him, and other believers, more useful.” As the service went on, God’s voice came up from the grass saying, “Hush, if you wish to come with me.” A mother told me, “You are near enough now,” and I drifted into a dream. The clouds came and went, sending people to the edges to operate on their life on that Sunday afternoon. I could see the dark tree limbs stretching over them and beyond the horizon. “Thy will be done as it is in heaven.” I wondered, does He know which key I have? If it was God’s question, it had to mine as well, and I would seek the answer in His time. When I awoke, the mothers with children were sitting up straight in the long grass, anxiously waiting for the final message. After reading, the pastor said “Amen,” and they rushed off to the protection of the new Manse as the storm drew up around. One mother had us walk on the dirt they so recently had turned. That was 65 years ago, Friends of Osceola, Frank Miserentino
For A Complete church History Click Here To See A Photo Gallery Of John's Installation Click Here
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