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The Trinity Broadcasting Network owns this peculiarly American park, a costume-party version of Jerusalem, which is far more attended by the faithful than by casual tourists. It has no rides, nor enough attractions to fill the hours, although performance times are spread across the clock to force completists to purchase a second day (which isn’t necessary to do). For oddity, there will never be its equal. Will there ever again be a theme park where major attractions are a wax museum of the Passion, a model of Jerusalem in the year 66, and a “Garden of Eden” strewn with animal mannequins? A cutout photograph of a handsome Jesus is installed in the central pond as if he’s walking on it, while the nearby Scriptorium houses a truly precious collection of rare specimens of Bible publishing. It seems wholesomely innocuous until late afternoon, when it turns into a gory snuff show: In an indoor amphitheatre, an actor playing Christ, serenaded by contemporary power ballads and piped-in applause, endures a lingering beating and blood-spattered “cruicifiThe Trinity Broadcasting Network owns this peculiarly American park, a lightly patronized but heavily sanitized version of Jerusalem, which has received a few refreshes in recent years but is still more popular with the devout than with casual tourists. The small property (that charges admission yet is exempt from property taxes) has no rides so must rely on presentations to fill the hours. Performance times are spread across the clock to force completists to purchase a second day, which isn’t necessary to do. For oddity, there will never be its equal. Will there ever again be a theme park where major attractions are an existential drama featuring the resurrection of Lazarus, a putt-putt course weaving through Bible stories, and a model of Jerusalem in the year A.D. 66? Biblical characters stroll around greeting visitors, while the nearby Scriptorium provides an automated 55-minute tour of a truly precious collection of rare specimens of Bible publishing history. It seems wholesomely innocuous until late afternoon, when it turns into a gory snuff show: An actor playing Christ endures a lingering beating and blood-spattered “crucifixion” by villainous Romans for an audience that holds up their palms in testimony. Entertaining people with execution is more Roman than these guests perceive. There’s no political context unless you can decode it: Recorded narration is all-male, Catholics are depicted as getting God wrong, and Christians always God’s chosen heroes persecuted by savages. If you have been to the real Holy Land, you will quickly grasp that this version of Israel is Hollywoodized and suburban, a costume-party catechism marrying the tone of Charlton Heston movies and the tenor of contemporary Christian music.xion” by villainous Romans for an audience holding up their palms in testimony. The act of entertaining people with execution is actually more Roman than these guests perceive. There’s no overt political context unless you’re paying attention: recorded narration is all-male, Catholics are depicted as getting God wrong, concession stands serve Chick-fil-A, and Christians are portrayed as radicals persecuted in pursuit of freedom. If you have been to the real Holy Land, you will quickly grasp that this version of Israel is descended from the pomp of Charlton Heston movies, as if Jesus was a nice American boy from the suburbs.