'Gradually, I felt more
and more cheated'

Mr Grade's post-modern circus had a lot to live up to. He had already said: "The Dome is a new kind of day out that we hope will become the standard for the rest of the world for years to come."

Inside the Faith Zone

In the freezing cold, among a baffling jumble of modern Britain's jetsam, I struggled with my first impressions. This was supposed to "beat anywhere else in the world to be entertained and intrigued". Had Mr Grade not even been to Alton Towers, I wondered.

The Millennium Dome creates a weird association of places: the money-on-show of the Ideal Home Exhibition, the anonymous urgency of an airport, the bizarre mélange of a TV studio. Visitors are encouraged "to do things they never thought possible". In Play Zone this included scoring a goal and staring at a mountain bike made entirely of sporting equipment. In Timekeepers, one of the most popular venues, punters were given the chance to fire balls at each other.

It was hard to read the true impressions of Rehearsal Day's 14,000 visitors, as they did such impossible things. All were unpaying guests deemed special because most of them had designed, built or marketed parts of the Dome. They had come to confirm that the £750 million spent during the last three years really had been justified. Many were wearing the same expression as Mr Grade.

A view of the Faith Zone

Explanation of the significance of what one is seeing is the main thing lacking. The Millennium Show is the worst culprit. In the very centre of the cursus, a bizarre neo-pagan mystery play will be performed three times a day. Superbly accomplished technically, these vague New Age gropings after transcendence was the most prominent faith on show at the Dome.

SO TO Faith Zone itself. How does religion take its place among the Dome's hands-on attractions?

Faith Zone's exterior suggested power-station architecture more than the publicised "tented space". Opposite David Begbie's exquisite sculpture signifying spiritual birth, a large sign in white-on-white lettering declared that "Jesus's birth even changed the measurement of time." The people I watched entering the zone didn't seem to notice it.

In a grubby white cylindrical room an indistinct recording played out the thoughts of young children ostensibly about God, but mostly about family life. Simultaneously, silhouettes of symbols and phrases from nine world faiths passed across the walls. Christianity was given as much space and time as Jainism and Zoroastrianism.

A print of the Ruthwell Celtic Cross from Scotland marked the start of a curving path of glass panels and television screens depicting Christian themes. The titles were beautifully inscribed at the top of the walls, along with relevant sections of scripture (carefully negotiated to be acceptable to people of all faiths).

The panels sketched out the importance of the themes in Jesus's life in a couple of sentences. Then followed a few paragraphs more concerned with British history than with the stuff of faith.

The video screens complemented the panels, with well made documentaries of Christians explaining the significance of the themes in their own lives. So Noel Robinson, a black worship-leader from the pentecostal Church of God of Prophecy in Tooting, London, explained the role of Durham Cathedral through the ages; Ruth McCabe, a carer from Milestone House in Edinburgh, talked about work with AIDS; and Vicki Hackett from the Riding Lights theatre group presented the story of William Tyndale.

A central pillar described Jesus as "a wandering prophet preaching the renewal of Israel", while another video played a variety of historical images of Christ from around Britain.

The visitor was led on to Life Points: nine pillars describing how different faiths approach rites of passage, such as marriage and death. Here was standard comparative religion. I had been looking forward to seeing "pictures taken by the world's leading photographers". It felt like looking at advertising pillars in a dated shopping mall.

In the centre of the zone sat the egg-shaped Contemplation Space; but before entering you encountered displays around the outside of its walls, focusing on world problems. Pretty noises such as wind chimes and synthesised choirs drifted out from speakers. Like a Flanders memorial, Faith in the Future pronounced damning statistics. We read that 850,000,000 people suffer from malnutrition; but how were we supposed to react? Apart from more comparative scripture quotations, the effect of religion on these problems was left untouched.

The comparisons continued around the other side of the egg, in a Faith Calendar, and a section called "Do Unto Others", which attempted to "explore the role of faith in situations of conflict and reconciliation". More stills, more religious quotes. Near here was the Message for the Millennium section: series of writing blocks and posting holes apparently designed for children.

Then into the Contemplation Space. Had temperatures outside the Dome not been dropping below freezing at the time, this might have been quite pleasant. A beautiful light sculpture by James Turrell, based on the phases of the moon, daubed the white walls with ethereal ultra-violet light. Pleasant scents and the sound of more wind chimes crept up on the senses.

But that is all there was here. The venue seemed to owe more to Buddhism and pagan symbolism than the traditional religious language of Britain. There was no devotional cross anywhere in the zone; no altar, no candles. There were no prompts for those unfamiliar with prayer and contemplation. It felt like a sacred space to me, but those around me generally talked loudly.

On the way out of the zone came two sections I liked least. "Onward Journey" featured disconnected recordings of people talking about death. I think I was supposed to feel solemn, but it just depressed me. The presentation was devoid of inspiration: dim spotlights; more comparative scriptures adorning yet more panels. The closest comparison was that of an empty coach station where announcers are saying that all departures were cancelled.

Margaret Thatcher, John Lennon and Nelson Mandela were the dominant icons in a busy mural "How Shall I Live?" Words of the so-called wise were lost among a clutter of images, which ceaselessly lit up and grew dim.

THE DOME experience initially impressed me with its scale, colour and variety. But gradually I felt more and more cheated. Faith Zone seemed to pay only lip-service to religion. I didn't find myself engaging with questions of belief, and I didn't see anybody else doing so either.

At the heart of the Dome's statement on faith in the new Millennium is a pretty but profound void. It poses the question: how shall I live? It remains to be seen whether anybody who experiences its attractions and distractions will be helped to an answer.