As an Episcopalian, I spend a lot of time thinking about ritual and community. That may be why, when I attended Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour (once in 2023 and again in 2024) I couldn’t help noticing how stadiums full of fans echoed the rhythms of Church life: the shared symbols, the call-and-response, the sense of belonging.
It’s been almost a year since I attended a show in New Orleans near the end of the tour. According to The New York Times, more than 10 million tickets for the Eras Tour were sold in its 149 shows across five continents. The gross revenue surpassed $2 billion, the highest ever for a concert tour. On average, nearly 70,000 people attended each night; in Melbourne, one show drew more than 96,000. Outside the ticketed seats, thousands more gathered to trade bracelets, sing along from parking lots, and simply breathe the same air as their pop-culture maven.
I find myself thinking that Taylor Swift has done something that our Church has not. She has convinced millions of young people to come together, sing with conviction, and walk away feeling as if they belong.
‘You Belong’: Why the Eras Tour Feels Like a Liturgy
She gave people symbols. Early Christians drew the ichthus in the dirt as a clandestine sign of solidarity. Swifties trade beaded bracelets. Both are compact and portable, instantly binding strangers into community. Her favorite number, 13, functions like a sacred cipher, every bit as shorthand as the Chi-Rho on a priest’s stole.
She gave fans a liturgy. In church, the presider proclaims and the congregation responds. At Swift’s shows, the formula was nearly identical: The clapping refrain in “You Belong With Me,” the shouted beat in “Bad Blood.” It was ritual call-and-response, practiced until it became second nature.
She gave them vestments. The Church has liturgical colors: purple for Advent, green for Ordinary Time, white for Easter. Swift has eras: gowns for “Speak Now,” snaky bodysuits for “reputation,” cozy cardigans for “evermore.” Fans mirrored these aesthetics in their outfits, dressing not merely for fashion but as an expression of identity, allegiance, and memory.
She gave them sacred space. Cathedrals were built for awe: soaring ceilings, filtered light, acoustics tuned for hymnody. Stadiums, too, are designed for transcendence. In both places, scale matters. Walk into the nave of the National Cathedral or the bowl of SoFi Stadium and your breath catches. For medieval pilgrims, the journey was Canterbury. For modern fans, it was concert venues in Los Angeles, Melbourne, or London.
She gave them emotional care. Swift is no priest, but she spoke like one. She named heartbreak, betrayal, and recovery. She admitted to doubt and despair, then sang of resilience. Her presence was performative (delivered to 70,000 at a time) but it carried genuine comfort. Many in the crowd left feeling seen, cared for, even blessed.
‘Castles Crumbling’: Where the Church Stands
Meanwhile, the Episcopal Church endures. We are not losing money; in fact, congregations collected more than $1.4 billion in giving last year. Attendance has rebounded somewhat since the pandemic. And unlike the pop tour, the Church is not ephemeral; it claims continuity with eternity.
But the generational imbalance is undeniable. The modal age of 69 means the Church is, demographically speaking, closer to hospice than to birth. And the gap between what young people are clearly hungry for—ritual, symbols, beauty, belonging—and what the Church offers is sobering.
Our worship can feel restrained when compared to Swift’s exuberant liturgy. Our vestments and liturgical colors sometimes seem more obscure than participatory. They carry centuries of meaning, tied to seasons and scripture, but to many outside the tradition they appear as coded signals rather than invitations. Instead of drawing newcomers in, they can feel like insider language stitched into fabric.
The Church also offers sacraments, which are meant to be wells of life and joy: bread and wine that nourish, water that heals, oil that blesses. Yet we do not always communicate them as such. Too often they are presented with solemnity but without the sense of wonder that might help younger generations grasp their vitality.
Our main symbol, the cross, fails to unite young people like it once did. Perhaps it has become too familiar, or perhaps its associations with suffering and sacrifice do not easily translate into the playful solidarity that bracelets evoke. Its ubiquity may also dull its force: when non-Christians wear it as fashion or celebrities display it as ornament, the cross no longer functions as a distinctive sign of fellowship in the way it once did.
Swift only offers pop music, and yet she makes it feel transcendent.
‘Begin Again’: Lessons the Church Might Learn
No, the Church should not hire a stage designer or turn the Eucharist into a pop show. But we might take some notes from the Eras phenomenon:
Participation matters. Worship is not a performance but a communal act. When liturgy brings people into community, people join in as they did at Swift’s shows.
Symbols have life. A bracelet is not powerful in itself; its meaning comes from the way people exchange it and wear it publicly. The same is true of the cross, vestments, and even sacraments. Symbols come alive when they move beyond the sanctuary and into daily life.
Beauty matters. We underestimate how much people are drawn to the aesthetics of light, sound, and movement. God made us sensory beings; why should worship not reflect that?
Storytelling is essential. Swift’s songs are diaries set to music. They are confessions and testimonies. Our sermons and prayers should likewise be rooted in lived story, not abstract platitude.
Presence should be both intimate and broad. Swift’s Instagram notes, surprise songs, and personal banter made stadiums feel like small rooms. Clergy can do the same with pastoral notes, social-media presence, and midweek touches of care.
‘Long Live’: The Next Chapter
The Eras Tour may be over, but Swift is not done evangelizing her fandom. Her 12th studio album, The Life of a Showgirl, drops October 3. It has already broken records: more than 5 million pre-saves on Spotify, the most ever. A film, The Official Release Party of a Showgirl, premieres this weekend. If the tour was her cathedral, the album is her scripture in waiting, ready to be sung, debated, and loved.
The Episcopal Church does not need to compete with Taylor Swift. It cannot, and it should not. What we offer is older, deeper, and, if we dare say it, truer. But Swift’s global revival should remind us of what is possible when ritual, symbol, and beauty meet longing.
The crowds at her concerts testify to a simple truth: people still want to belong, to sing, to be moved. That hunger is as real today as it was in the early Church. The question is whether the church will meet it with a living witness or cede the field to sequins, stadium lights, and a pop star who, intentionally or not, has been teaching us all a lesson in what it means to gather, to believe, and to enter, for a few hours at least, into a “State of Grace.”
Catherine Stapleton is a young professional and “Swiftie” living in Washington, D.C., where she works in higher education and is active in the Episcopal Church.
