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.