At Holy Land USA, an abandoned Catholic theme park in Waterbury, Connecticut, one man’s devotion fell into decay. The park evokes tombs overgrown with ivy and the sound of footsteps echoing off the walls of an empty cathedral. As I bear witness to the bright, 65-foot tall cross that stands on Pine Hill on an October afternoon, I imagine children on a field trip gathering around a simpler version of the landmark. Jesus was crucified on Golgotha, a hill outside the Jerusalem city walls; Pine Hill’s backside contains a miniature of the city made of repurposed materials such as bathtubs and retail mannequins. I notice that most colors have faded from these buildings, leaving behind an eerie white that stands out like ghosts in the dark overgrowth. The scale of the buildings, at most hip-height, veers my mind to gravestones. At the very bottom of the hill, a Hollywood-style sign labels the park in bold letters, hinting at its past. Slightly further up, a statue of Christ the King has a plaque thanking the Eagle Scout who restored it in 2015.
Holy Land USA’s construction began in 1955, and the park opened in 1958. During its peak in the 1960’s and 70’s, Holy Land drew 44,000 visitors a year. Visitors wandered through the diorama of biblical scenes, weaving through the replicated Jerusalem and Bethlehem buildings. However, according to founder John Baptist Greco, a graduate of Yale Law School, Holy Land’s purpose was never conversion. “We just show them what we believe,” he told the New York Times in 1974.
Although the site’s closure in 1984 was planned to be a temporary renovation, it became permanent when Greco died in 1986. As early as that very year, those unconvinced of Holy Land’s artistic value and potential for revitalization questioned the site’s future. After all, if Holy Land USA represented no more than a closed business, then it would make sense to demolish it. Sister Angela Bulla, one of the nuns who managed the land, said, “What is aesthetically pleasing, we’ll keep. What is not, we’ll remove.” Bulla’s plan never came to fruition, but it drew a clear line between the “ramshackle” of Greco’s personal work versus some of the more mass-appealing works added throughout its operation. This approach allowed Holy Land to seamlessly transition into what Folk Art Finder editor Florence Laffel defended as “folk art” in a 1986 letter. While it is hard to find exact details, family photos from its open years show an enterable Good Samaritan’s Inn, a jumbo 10 Commandments, and the Peace Through Love and Law monument – sturdier than the miniatures and less MacGyver in their construction.
The contrasting landscape of Holy Land reflects a broader phenomenon in the institution of American Christianity: the emergence of the megachurch and shuttering of smaller institutions. Congregations that have dwindled to under 100—primarily made up of senior citizens—are “merged” into those with 2,000 or more members. This isn’t entirely negative. These mega churches tend to be more diverse, younger, and offer a more approachable vibe. Yet, organizations with multimillion-dollar budgets and dedicated guest relation teams are a far cry from the intimacy with which a priest shakes the hand of each parishioner as they leave a small mass.
Yet, organizations with multimillion-dollar budgets and dedicated guest relation teams are a far cry from the intimacy with which a priest shakes the hand of each parishioner as they leave a small mass.
I witness this tension when I visit my hometown of Florence, Kentucky. Churches that refuse commercialization are abandoned or converted into something entirely different. My Nana lamented her Baptist church’s decision to not build a youth center in the years before it closed down. My uncles held their wedding reception in “The Leapin Lizard,” formerly a United Methodist Church. These churches seek to attract young people, but lack the resources to facilitate spaces for them in an aging congregation. Nearby, our local non-denominational megachurch in an old warehouse thrives. The live band blares over speakers while the pastor is projected onto screens that take an entire tech crew to operate. It is a production.
Today, many of Holy Land’s more “produced” installations are gone. In 2014, the park was reopened in the sense that it is not trespassing to explore during daylight hours. The park has continuously held Catholic masses throughout the past decade, usually on significant religious holidays. In 2021, a sunrise mass for Easter drew a crowd of 500 people. Yet, Holy Land has the disquieting feeling of a place that used to be much, much busier. It has lived, perhaps died, and certainly yearns for resurrection. As I wandered through the empty parking lot, I wondered how Holy Land USA fits into the modern puzzle of Christian tourism. How do you leave each visitor with the impression that they have had a personal connection with God?
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Intimacy is not viable at scale, and the Christian tourism industry now emphasizes the “mega.” As a concept, a Christian tourist site might seem strange, even antithetical, to some. While tourism may strive towards a genuine cultural experience, it is often entrenched in the manufactured and hedonistic. The tourist is a passing entity through the site as opposed to the life-long relationship the devout strive to foster with God. To see one of the foremost examples of Christian tourism, drive south down I-75 past natural beauty like Big Bone Lick State Historic Site and many highway exits with the same chain restaurants. At five stories tall, the large wooden vessel of the Ark Encounter emerges upon the horizon, looming over 4,000-population Williamstown, Kentucky. It was founded by Answers in Genesis, which set up its first American headquarters in Florence in 1994. The Christian ministry specializes in apologetics, the intellectual defense of religion. Its founder, Ken Ham, believes in young-earth creationism, whose central tenant is the truth of Genesis; the Ark strives to prove that Noah really could have taken two of every animal and survived an apocalyptic flood for a little over a year. Employees under the $120 million project were required to sign pledges rejecting evolution and homosexuality. As a result, the Commonwealth of Kentucky tried to block Answers in Genesis’s use of the Kentucky Tourism Development Program before a federal court ruled it as unconstitutional. The Ark Encounter makes a mega impression in every sense: physically, economically, and even legally. The sense of wonder that is inevitable when next to such a grand structure is used as a jumping off point for conversion. Holy Land’s massive sign and cross nears this idea. Surely, the park bolstered the reputation of Greco’s chapter of the Catholic advocacy group Catholic Campaigners for Christ, whose members preached throughout the country.
However, the private individuals who now take up the cause of Holy Land don’t see this as its mission. Reverend Jim Sullivan is the rector of the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception. After working in construction for 25 years, Sullivan was ordained to the priesthood in 2014. He had visited Holy Land when it was open only once: age six when his aunts were in town. Yet, even as a layperson, it held a place in his heart. “I’ve always had a love for the cross,” he told me over a phone call. After attending various meetings throughout the decades about Holy Land’s revival, he was the first to propose the use of Holy Land as a site for masses. “We had a mass in 2018 on the feast day of [blessed] Father McGivney…It was raining out, and I think 1100 people came.” He explained his vision for Holy Land USA’s purpose is “to build the faith of people, to have a place of prayer, to go to a place of respite, to get away from the busyness of the world, despite the fact that we’re in a very busy city with 225,000 cars passing there every week.” A more marketing-oriented mind might see the traffic that passes the cross as a prime opportunity. The difference between Ken Ham’s intentions and Rev. Sullivan’s is clear. Holy Land will not sacrifice its special qualities for worldly gains.
Other attractions use terror, rather than wonder, as a gateway to God. “Hell” or “hallelujah” houses thrive off the Halloween season, hoping to literally scare the fear of God into attendees. However, marketing seldom mentions this purpose. In middle school, my friend volunteered in a traveling version known as “The 99” in reference to the claim that 99 preventable teenage deaths happen each day. A large tent was set up next to her school, and throughout the month of September, she rotated roles including a drug user and demon. In a standard haunted house format, scenes of real-world tragedy such as suicide, car accidents, and overdoses were shown. The culmination of horrors was a visit to hell from which I emerged to a reenactment of Jesus on the cross and volunteer offering a free religious book. Conversely, Holy Land never intended to use fear as a selling point, but its current state leads to many unsettling images: “Our Lady of Peace” surrounded by razorwire at the base of the cross or profane graffiti across from the stations of the cross. Many articles about the park capitalize on the aesthetic appeal of Catholic horror.
Yet, these sights are surface level compared to the 2010 rape and murder of 16-year-old Chloe Ottman at the foot of the cross. This tragedy was a catalyst for the eventual purchase of the park by Waterbury Mayor Neil O’Leary and car dealer Fred “Fritz” Blasius in 2013. Ongoing restoration efforts have added new features that ease the atmosphere of neglect. The base of the cross was funded by the public and is made of bricks holding many family names. Some inscriptions are dedicated to beloved relatives with long lifespans, standing in contrast to the faceless junk bonds that funded the Ark. Taking in this wall of memorials, I can’t hope to digest the ethical implications of revitalizing a site at which this tragedy occurred. Holy Land is less separate from the world of man, and it must face the resulting earthly turmoil.
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It wasn’t until I came to Yale that I realized these touristic experiences around Christianity were uncommon. I remembered them for their novelty—the excitement of riding a camel, shrinking back in fear as my friend mimicked a high—but the attractions’ primary goals of converting the unfaithful and reaffirming the faithful shrunk to the background in my mind. In this landscape of flashy, tourist attractions, I was at first confused by Holy Land USA as described in many sources. It is often called a theme park, but it fits more neatly into the category of divine labors. Much as Hercules was called by the Greek gods to perform impressive tasks, many Catholics have believed they were called to create grand works of religious art. However, art is a celebration rather than penance. The Catholic Church’s central theological document, the Catechism, reads, “rising from talent given by the Creator and from man’s own effort, art is a form of practical wisdom, uniting knowledge and skill.” In a 1979 issue of The Clarion, published by the American Folk Art Museum, Holy Land is described as “an intuitive expression unbounded by considerations of style…a far cry from the more limited desire to teach and preach.” The site is not a means to the end of conversion or revenue-generation. It is a manifestation of devotion. Greco said he “did it for the Lord, like a prayer.”
Holy Land USA is welcoming to all, but a distinctly Catholic presence can be felt from its focus on the Virgin Mary and the Passion of the Christ. Even outside of the context of the park, the city of Waterbury has strong ties to Catholicism. It was once the most Catholic city in the US per capita. The most well-known figure is Blessed Father Michael McGivney, who was born in Waterbury to Irish immigrants but served most of his life in New Haven. In 1882, he founded the Knights of Columbus, which has become the largest Catholic fraternal benefit society. (My own Papaw is a devoted member and recently was donated a ramp for his mobility.) McGivney was beatified in 2020, which is the step before sainthood in the Catholic church.
Upon the merger of all eight Roman Catholic churches in New Haven, the new parish was named after McGivney. This merger was one of many in the state of Connecticut due to a dwindling Catholic population in the Northeast and a shortage of priests. They face unique difficulties compared to the protestant mergers of dwindling congregations into megachurches. Parishes were often founded to serve a specific ethnic community, as each one had different languages and customs. Therefore, when Waterbury merged six churches into one, the resulting All Saints Church was given ethnic shrines to the Irish, French, Italians, Lithuanians, Poles, and Latinos. The green dome of St. Anne can be seen from Holy Land USA. Originally for French-speaking Catholics, the Saturday mass was held in Spanish when I visited. Through Holy Land USA, the various Catholic community members memorialized are usually Italian with some Irish. At a fundraising banquet, founding board member Neil O’Leary joked of the friendly competition between the two groups. As opposed to a point of fleeting connections made between many tourists, one wonders if Holy Land could become a space of connection for all Waterbury Catholics in a time when it is more needed than ever.
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In many ways, Holy Land USA seems left behind. On a surface level, it is in disrepair. It isn’t as ostentatious as many protestant attractions, and the Catholic presence in the region is declining. However, as the Waterbury Catholic community becomes smaller, John Baptist Greco’s original vision remains poignant. Bob Chinn, former grounds chairmen of Holy Land, said in 2001: “He felt no one, no matter the race, creed or color, should be separated. He wanted a place for all people to sit and be peaceful.” Holy Land’s current biggest advocate, Rev. Jim Sullivan, told me something similar: “Holy Land was one of those things that united.” Indeed, Sullivan put into words what I imagine Holy Land USA must be in a world of Arks, hell houses, and megachurches. “It can’t be hokey, meaningless,” he said. “There has to be a beauty to it, and then something that touches the heart. And if it’s done right, I think Holy Land should be an incredible place of revival in pilgrimage.”
“There has to be a beauty to it, and then something that touches the heart. And if it’s done right, I think Holy Land should be an incredible place of revival in pilgrimage.”
When I visited Holy Land, I did feel some sort of renewal. My parents, who had decided to join me, were quite worried when the Uber dropped us off. They soon became as fascinated as I was. We hiked through the overgrowth and over uneven rocks, always feeling like there was more to see. Eventually, my dad found “The Tower of Babel.” Now functionally a large fire pit, he joked that it was the beginning of Old Testament land.
As we walked away, he spotted the remnants of a sign on a cliff: -icho. Immediately, he started to climb, and I followed along hesitantly. Jericho is a city in the Bible famous for its tall walls until they come tumbling down after Joshua and the Israelites march around them for seven days. There wasn’t anything particularly exciting about that cliff beyond the sign. Yet, I felt the full force of Holy Land’s power as I stood on top of it, facing the rolling hills of autumn trees. God punished those who built the Tower of Babel for trying to create something that could rival his creation. Perhaps this new vision for Holy Land USA is the solution to a world of Towers of Babel.
