There is an architectural word for buildings, homes, and monuments whose design elements are expensive, unusual, and, ultimately, without purpose. They are called follies. These include such places as le Palais Ideal, the Winchester House, and Neuschwanstein Castle. They are a testament to designers who had too much time, too much money, or too little brain.
Or possibly all three. In Kentucky, where rolling hills give way to low lying plains and bluegrass waters slowly replenish the Ohio River, lies the town of Petersburg. There, through a union of enough time, enough money, and not enough thought, arises an edifice known as The Creation Museum. It promises enjoyment for any who may pass its doors. Entertainment will surely follow, both for those who consider it austere and those who think it fatuous. For one visit, and then no more.
After that first visit, what value is there in a return to this monument of theology? The British Museum, the Smithsonian Institution, the Louvre, all of these rotate exhibits, add new information, remove discredited work. But this can not be so with the Creation Museum. How do you add something new if the Bible itself cannot be added to? How do you update what you believe to be inerrant? How do you further educate if all knowledge of history is fixed? How do you expect to find more than one way to sputter "God did it"?
Of course, you can't. This monument to cultural inertia is misnamed. Behold the Creation Mausoleum. In it are the discarded ideas, naivety, and fears of the youth of mankind. Reject these beliefs, but know them, for there are those who would see them resurrected. But make no mistake. It is a tomb. It is a folly.
Some, unfortunately, may never realize that.