My last day in Jerusalem. The city did not fail to send me out in scorching fashion. I walked for about three hours in the blistering hot sun, trying not to irritate the new skin that was exposed from peeling. It was my last attempt to cram in the sights I wanted to see.

I climbed up Mt. Zion. Quite biblical, I'd say. By climb I mean I walked steadily up the road that was nicely paved. The sights I wanted to see were the cliche places everyone wants to see: King David's Tomb, Mary's Tomb, the ground where St. Peter denied Christ, the Last Supper room.

I look back and I somewhat chuckle. These Mecca's are almost all commercialized, swarming with people who want to take advantage of a few shekels from your pocket. It's everywhere. Water from the Jordan River, dirt from the Negev desert, oil from the olive trees of Galilee, widow's mites, Roman glass, ikons, it's completely endless. And yet people (myself included) flock to these places just to get a sense of something supernatural. We want to believe that the Bible is true and that the place where it was written holds mystical qualities.

And if those tingling sensations don't arise, then it means that the Bible is composed of something too human, I guess. I understand the desire for Israel to be something spectacular. And yet, if the excitement cannot be breathed through the air or felt in the dirt, a sense of disappointment threatens to settle in.

I am thankful to have been here for almost six weeks. I wanted this trip to be magical. And, in many ways, it has been life-changing. But not in a way my imagination wanted it. I wanted automatic love towards the Jewish people. I received tough conversations and irritating relationships. I wanted Biblical stories to feel alive. I received Hebrew language education and grammar rules. I wanted sacred places and hallowed grounds, I received dusty rooms, semi-amazing views, and salty seas.

I surely enjoyed my proximity to Biblical accounts, my stays in Biblical cities, my interaction with Biblical language. But what is special about this place is that it is not as foreign as I thought. Sure there are cultural barriers and frustrations in communication, but people live here, and people lived back then. King David was a real person. St. Peter was a real person. Mary was a real person. Jesus was a real person. To me, that is the magic. That I don't have to be elevated to another heaven or transcend to a different consciousness to find relatability.

And so, the Incarnation proves to be of infinite importance. That Christ would come as man, and relate with man, and love man, and feel as man, and die as man is where the infathomability sets in. The act of becoming us is astounding and can nowhere be tasted here in Israel. The only thing here is the history of mankind. But is that enough? What my journeys to all these places and the excitement that led me there tell me, is that we crave something more than we can see. And what my walks home and the feelings I felt on the way tell me, is that we were never meant to escape our humanity. There is something forever valuable in staying here and continuing on with life.

Israel is a beautiful land filled with beautiful people and with a fascinating history. Yet, it is ultimately just a place that I will leave behind. And I don't think I will be leaving the height of spirituality or the epitome of holiness. I think my purpose in following Christ will sit next to me on the plane ride and welcome me when I get home. Our salvation did not take the form of a geographic area. And when I think of this, I cannot ultimately be disappointed with anything I saw or didn't see. If I know how to love people better now than I did six weeks ago, than what is holy has the capacity and the ability to increase. So tomorrow does not hold a reminder of the erosion of our attempts at preservation, but the hope that we embody what is everlasting.

It takes the unfamiliar to help us recognize what is home.

And that home is built, not forced or simply accepted.

So we inhabit, taking risk and looking for anchor.

And that anchor drags along the floor until we feel it catch.

Only to hear it scrape again as it chips away our relief.

So we float on, riding the tide in and out, in and out.

We wait, we wait, we wait.

And just before we dive in, we feel it catch again.

We dismiss, we disbelieve, we distrust.

Because before we have been disillusioned, diluted, deluded.

Uncertainly, we look out of the corners of our eyes at what we wish to stand firm.

And it does.

And it does not move.

And we build.

And we have our home.

And we have our loves.

And we have our little ones.

And they learn to trust the anchor.

And they learn to love home.

Until, for reasons unknown, we feel the familiar wave.

And tearfully we learn whom home really was all along.

Knowing together we float on.

And they are forced to learn for themselves what it is to cast anchor, choose to inhabit, and risk looking for home.

While we must choose few words and launch them into their unknown.

Though we are to be close behind.

And we pray for peace to carry them, that they might return to carry us.

As we are reminded, for the thousandth time, that the tide comes and goes as it pleases.

And our bodies feeble and our minds fragile

Need to hear once again that home is with us and home is out there.

Because we were made for land.

And someday, we believe, we shall.

Does this world continue to decompose and thus doom us to searching the earth for what has been untainted?

This is the question that arose in my mind as I listened to Jack explain why he could never marry a woman in the United States. 'I have nothing in common with America. There are just no good examples of Christian women that I have found.'

I bristled at his comments, though I said nothing and attempted to listen to his whole reasoning. After he had finished what seemed more of a definitive declaration than a conversation starter, I was prompted to unpack his generalized comments and find hope where he seemed to throw in the towel.

From the start, we were on differing sides of the issue due to the fact that I have been with an American girl for about two and a half years. And, I have found in her what I believe to be sure evidences of Christ's love. Yet, the issue was deeper for Jack than finding a good woman. Jack's belief in total depravity seemed to suck sanctification out of the earthly realm. Thus, evil enters and poisons earth and its institutions exponentially with no upturn. Government systems, relationships, the environment, and entertainment are all pointers to a screwed up world.

Where I do not wholeheartedly disagree with the influence of brokenness upon all of creation, I do believe that a fundamental change occurred when Christ came. It seems logical to assume that when relationship with God was severed in the garden, an insatiable darkness entered the world. Yet, Christ entered a dark (and ever-darkening?) world as light itself. That light was brought to mankind in the most accessible form possible: fellow mankind. Is it ridiculous to assume that, as the light of Christ dwells and multiplies within mankind, that the earth is continually looking more like the Kingdom of Light?

Sure, the earth's government, environment, societal systems are broken and appear to be degrading. But, where then is the perfect? Must we travel to untouched jungles find the least screwed up nature? Must we visit the most unreached people to find the least screwed up humanity? Do we flee the darkness and pray for the damnation of those who walk in it? Or, do we enter the darkness, not as crusaders of light, but as those who live, believe, and speak the presence of Christ as hope and healing?

I do not think it is ignorant to say that today earth is more sanctified than when Christ came. It is hard to believe this when so much appears to be wrong with creation. But, ever-expanding hope for change and involvement in new life has to be a better option than acceptance of evil and retreat. I pray that my life proves me believing of my own words and not naive to reality. Yet, Christ didn't say, 'Hunker down and brace yourself for Armageddon' when he left earth. No, He said, 'Go into the world, and I will be with you always.' It is in those words that I see undeniable hope. I can live with that.