My soundtrack for the drive up to Cleveland was Hamilton: An American Musical. My oldest daughter, Madelaine, is an evangelist for Lin-Manuel Miranda’s masterwork. The writing is vibrant, the music is beguiling, the vocal performances are remarkable, and the emotion generated, even by the soundtrack (after all, I am not wealthy enough to afford the staggering ticket prices, much less the trip to Broadway), is a freight train with no stops, only picking up speed to flatten anything that wanders onto the tracks. Of all the things to be obsessed by, Madelaine has chosen well.

Imagine, then, the mental transition that must take place as you near the Cleveland suburbs, about to drink in the splendor that should be the Republican National Convention. You have been regaled by the derring-do that was Alexander Hamilton–a giant striding above giants, among the handful of most important men in our history, a man who wrote immortal words and made arguments that still shape us, a seer, a sinner, and a saint, an immigrant son of a prostitute, Washington’s firm right hand–and you ponder, even for a moment, what the Republican Party seems about to do, to inflict upon us, Hamilton’s heirs, a spoiled half-man who struggles to speak in complete sentences, much less write half a hundred Federalist Papers.

To be clear, this is not Cleveland’s fault. While I have only skirted the city, the people have been exemplary. I had two stops on the itinerary. The first was Parkside Church, where Alistair Begg has occupied the pulpit for more than three decades. While I was looking for a place to stay in Cleveland, I noticed that my choices were basically Mansfield (you people from the area will get this) or no dice. So, I embarked on another idea, poking around to see if people in the area may be willing to provide me a proper pillow for the evening hours. I got connected to Stephen Port, one of Cedarville’s finest in Admissions, who is from Cleveland. Eventually, he put me in touch with Dave and Ruth Juergemeier. Ruth is the musical director on Begg’s staff, and Dave helps oversee a five acre greenhouse nearby. They just put one daughter, Natalie, through Cedarville, and they had an extra bedroom they were willing to share for the week. I accepted.

Well, yesterday, Ruth texted to see if I would be willing to stop by Parkside’s outdoor, evening service. She said Pastor Begg would like to introduce me to his parishioners and conduct a brief interview. I accepted, of course. I admire Begg, and have seen him at Cedarville at least once. His reputation, and that of his church, is sterling. They have put dozens of students through our university.

The whole thing was such a good time. After some worship music, Pastor Begg grabbed a microphone and started questioning the crowd about who might be the oldest person there (someone had been born in 1915!), or who might have traveled the farthest (Bolivia took the prize). Eventually, he found me, introduced me, and asked some pointed questions about life, politics, and what I do at Cedarville. It was all rather surreal. I gave him my opinion and did little to hide my dismay at our present state.

After the service, I had a dozen or so people stop by to talk about what I was doing in town (media interviews), what I thought of the current candidates (held my nose, repeatedly), and what we should do (shrugged my shoulders vigorously). I also saw a couple of former students and met Stephen Port’s family. They are as charming as he is.

After that, Dave Juergemeier and I trekked back to their house, which was stop #2 on the itinerary. Eventually we ate dinner and I am presently collapsing into bed. They are good, decent, kind people. I appreciate their hospitality and their patience with me.

Tomorrow beckons. I have a full day, kicking off with WHIO radio at 7 am, WHIO TV scattered throughout, phone calls from California and Xenia, and, who knows what else. In future Missives from the Morass, I will try to post pictures and comments on the convention as it unfolds. Regardless of what you think of it, history will be made.