A Liturgy for Attending a Theme Park

Hey there. I’ve got something different than normal today!

Many people who know and follow me will be aware that theme parks have been one of my niche hyperfixations from an early age—and more specifically than that, I’ve spent the last 5 years or so thinking and writing privately about the intersection of theme park building (and placemaking in general) with religious and spiritual life. It’s why my bio on most social media refers to myself, somewhat tongue-in-cheek, as a “theme park theologian.”

This idea of theme parks as potentially spiritual places was instilled into me chiefly by my father from an early age, who would often gesture toward the shadowy image of a heavenly kingdom whenever we went to Disney World as a family growing up. In my interactions with other Christians, however, the idea has often been taboo; theme parks, it seems, are viewed primarily as greedy, secular enterprises bent on distracting people with worldly thrills and overstimulation. This perception is not without reason or merit; it’s true that theme parks exist to make money, often more than necessary, and they exist within a fallen world.

Nevertheless, finding something spiritually significant in kitschy Americana has been a favorite pastime of mine for a while—partly, I think, because there is some necessity to seeking enchantment in our disenchanted world, where instinctually I look to find God in unexpected places more than expected ones. This wonderful piece about “The Metaphysics of Waffle House,” which I read this week, exists very much in the same train of thought. In this overwhelmingly rational and disenchanted landscape, I’ve found again and again that experiences at places like Disney World allow people to reawaken the eyes of a child within them again—along with helping them to meditate on what is good, true, and beautiful.

Theme parks are fundamentally extravagant (and I use that word with affection) creative enterprises—usually funded by corporations with a goal of making money, yes, but also dreamt and engineered by talented and creative artists empowered to build imaginative things that wouldn’t oft have a place in our utilitarian ordinary world. If you’re interested in the people and creativity that go into places like this, I’d recommend watching The Imagineering Story docuseries on Disney Plus; it’s a gripping and often moving picture of the fruit that comes from creative collaboration and experimentation. Rest assured, however: my love of a place like Disney World has little to do with any real devotion to Disney as a corporation—but merely to the fruitful work they have on occasion allowed some talented people to create, not dissimilar to the benefactors who funded the frescos and cathedrals of an earlier era.

Since my first trip to English L’Abri in 2020, which was the first time I’d had extended conversations with others about this idea, I’ve been working on-and-off on a theological paper/treatise (which, someday, might be a book) called “Theme Park Theology.” The treatise looks at the overlapping principles of design and creation between The Garden of Eden in Genesis, The New Jerusalem in Revelation, and The Magic Kingdom at Disney World—exploring motivating ideas like intentionality in design, the value of difference and distinction, communal worship, and subcreation.

I’m sure it will be a long time before I’m ready to publish any of it. In my exploration of theme parks, I’ve been drawn more and more into a broader study of what makes great homes, places, towns, and cities—how we’ve grown increasingly isolated in the modern world, and why places like Disney World have become strange capitalist antidotes to modern problems of car dependency and the disappearance of cultural gathering points.

In the meantime, however, I decided last year to write this “Liturgy for Attending a Theme Park” as a general overarching philosophy for theme park theology. As you’ll notice if you’re familiar with the reference, the format is very much inspired by that of the liturgies present in Douglas McKelvey’s “Every Moment Holy” book series published by The Rabbit Room. My hope, as many people prepare to visit theme parks with their families this summer, is that it might provide some new eyes to see and perceive the experience. Though please, for the love of all that is truly holy: do not make plans to visit Orlando, Florida in July!

Also, just a note: this piece was originally written and formatted on my laptop, and I haven’t quite been able to get the line spacing to look right on mobile. If you’re noticing any weirdness in formatting on your phone, that’s probably why!

A Liturgy for Attending a Theme Park

O God of All Wonder, Joy, and Majesty,

Thank you for the sacred gift
of the imagination; 
a gift that allows us to see things 
as they might be, 
to dream new worlds 
of light and magic,
and to breathe form and picture 
to our invisible faith.

It was you, spirit, 
who first imagined and engineered 
a world of beautiful colors, 
sensations, and experiences.

It was you, father, 
who tasked Adam 
with the very first imaginative act 
of naming the animals 
in the garden you called “Delight.”

It was you, Christ, 
who provoked the imaginations of all you met, 
telling stories of mustard seeds & outcasts,
and always saying, 
“the kingdom of heaven is like this,”
as you crafted images for the unimaginable.

As I prepare myself to go to a theme park today, 
I thank you that humans can reflect,
in our own meager creations,
a tiny glimmer of your divine imagination.

Castles and carousels;
Steam trains and riverboats;
Fireworks and parades;
Streetcars and stage shows;
all of these things, 
when stewarded rightly,
can be like bread and wine,
nourishing and delighting us
with their pleasurable taste,
though you did not make them
without our collaborative labor.

After all, you provided the grapes and wheat, 
but you left our fallible hands to create
the very metaphor for your body and blood.

The imaginative creations I will see today
are meant to sway the heart
toward wonder, play, and enchantment;
and indeed, these marvels 
represent innovation and experimentation
beyond what generations long past
could have ever conceived.

Help me not to idolize mere progress, 
but to see your hand
on the talented artists, engineers, and dreamers
who dared to invest in extravagant beauty
and used the human brain and body 
to paint shimmering shadows
of your wondrous celestial city to come;
a city built not only by God, 
and not merely by man,
but by the creative spirit of Christ
permeating every redeemed child
in the New Creation.

Man creates because his father created first,
and every world we paint
is a picture of you, the first world-maker.

We pilgrimage here,
the young and old alike,
to find streets with greater perfection
than those we walk back home,
to celebrate ideas and cultures
created by other humans 
to permeate the soul,
and to cast our gaze 
toward castles and kingdoms
which awaken our inner child.

Let us not see our ordinary lives 
as dulled by comparison,
forever chasing the mountaintops 
of a perpetual fantasyland,
but help this momentary glimpse of wonder
to cast a vision for the greater perfection
you will invite us to explore
upon your return.

Father, please halt me
from believing that I am owed this day,
or that the world can ever be fully redeemed
without your holy and transformative fire.

The place I am entering 
has not been created free from sin,
and like the moneylenders 
and merchants in the temple,
the sacred delights of your kingdom 
have been mingled with human greed, 
selfishness, and heresy.

In the present, all of humanity’s dreams 
are cursed somehow.
But with your help, 
we can still awaken our eyes
to the world as it might have been, 
and someday will be again.

Just as the Psalmists chose 
to include pertinent wisdom
from many authors of their age and time,
help me to see the Imago Dei 
in the wonders of this place,
and in every person that I meet today.

As I wait in line with patient expectation 
for each brief joy,
teach me to love the waiting,
to be fully present 
in the sacrament of the moment,
and to embrace the momentary thrills and delights
as an early sighting 
of your coming return.

Guide me not to see the people in front of me, 
in these bustling crowds,
as obstacles to getting where I want to go
and doing what I want to do;
prompt me, Christ, 
to feel the sonder of knowing
that every person is a beloved child, 
longing for home, 
though they know not where.

This place could be an idol, O God,
or, if I let it,
this place could be a glass,
reflecting something true
even in its imperfections
and drawing my heart
to greater reality
and lovelier celebration
than I could have ever dreamed.

Help me to dream good dreams,
to laugh and shout and breathe
with the openness of a child,
and to seek your kingdom
in all its fleeting forms
everywhere I go.

Amen.