"I am the resurrection and the life," said Jesus (John 11:25) on his triumphant rise from the dead. But there's no mention in the Bible of him ascending from a plaster Holy Mount as the delayed 13.30 flight to Santiago rises skywards behind him. Between Buenos Aires' city airport and a gaudy water park, Tierra Santa or Holy Land: The World's Original Religious Theme Park, is half way through its first hourly Resurrection.
At the entrance to the park, there's a queue and a slew of jaded staff members in epoch-appropriate dress. Two centurions pose for a photo, their swords to the throat of a mum-of-two in hot pants. There are parents with toddlers in tow, retirees and flocks of hollering teens posing next to a lighting rig disguised as a palm tree. A couple of nuns walk to the front of the queue and get in free. It's company policy.
I pay my entrance money and step from concrete onto sand. Tierra Santa opened its holy gates in 2000, on a 17-acre estate that was once a football pitch, and now sees around 20,000 visitors each summer. It's the only one of its kind in Latin America, but has a glossier rival in the Holy Land Experience in Orlando, which opened in 2001. Currently, they're the world's only two Christian theme parks, but 2014 will see the opening of Ark Encounter, a massive $150m creation-themed park in Kentucky with a full-scale Noah's Ark. And there is talk of Tierra Santa's operator, Sigma, opening a park in Mallorca.
Disney has a predilection for cast members who can stay in character with bone-chilling determination, but Tierra Santa is less rigorous about keeping up appearances. Shepherds announce crossly into megaphones, shepherdesses hurriedly hide away their Nokias, and veiled virgins change soiled bin bags while chewing gum.
The grounds are a loose interpretation of Jerusalem, divided into 36 memorable events in the Messiah's life, through birth, life as a carpenter, the crucifixion and the resurrection. The closest thing to a ride is the "Rotating Ark of Joseph", a camel-based merry-go-round that blares out the tune to Little Drummer Boy. There are dry ice shows, 500 life-size statues and multiple faux limestone buildings. The exact number of Jesuses in the park is contested among staff. One Roman says it's at least 100, but the gents in the souvenir shop say it's 30, not including the ones on keyrings.
I start with the Genesis show, promised a spectacle of God creating heaven and Earth. We're plunged into darkness – to the sound of bleating mobile phones. An African drumbeat begins, some bassy guitar. A man's voice reads from the Bible as if it's a Hollywood blockbuster and an ethereal green light fills the stage. Suddenly a robotic lion creaks forth and children and adults coo. A hippo is rustily wheeled out. An elephant lifts its tired mechanical trunk and a gorilla scares some babies at the front. Then, to the sound of Carmina Burana, an ivy-enwrapped mannequin of Adam is winched up, bouncing precariously as he reaches the upright position. A sexy-looking Eve arrives, shaking her blonde ringlets.
Hoofing through various biblical scenes, including Jesus Forgives the Adulterous Woman, I pause for some Arabic dancing on the Hebrew Temple stage. There are figurines of famous do-gooders: Pope John Paul II, Mother Teresa, Martin Luther and Gandhi, and scale models of a mosque and a synagogue. While there are signs of genuine faith here – rolled-up prayers pushed into the fake Wailing Wall, and candles lit at shrines in the Saints' Grotto – there is, refreshingly, no Biblical hard sell.
The effigies are at their eeriest at the Last Supper, a "show" in which the audience sit in front of 13 mechanical figures who barely move, while neon spotlights shoot in different directions to a soundtrack of Handel's Zadok the Priest. Afterwards, park-goers clamber up to pose next to plastic Judas.
The park comes to life over the Easter weekend, when there are three days of re-enactments in which – in a departure from the usual animated plastic shows – a real-life bearded actor will plough through the events of Maundy Thursday, Good Friday and Easter Sunday at timetabled intervals. Visitors can expect to dine at the Last Supper, with real food and non-animatronic apostles, and later help "Jesus" carry the cross. Staff are excited. In the pizzeria, a robed youth tells me: "Doing the same thing every day can get a little tiresome, but at Easter we have so much fun."
For the visitor, of course, every week at Holy Land is Easter week. I arrive at the scenes leading up to Jesus's crucifixion. Behind roped-off areas on Mount Calvary are depictions of Jesus being crowned with thorns, carrying the cross and finally being crucified at the highest point in the park. It's harrowing stuff. At The Gate of Damascus, a busy restaurant next to the Saint Joseph Carpentry, I recover with a bottle of Heineken and a kebab.
All this is just building up for the main event. It's dark now and a crowd is gathering. When Handel's Messiah pipes up there are yelps of excitement. Slowly but surely, out pops the head of Christ. Cameras flash. His body rises towards the starry night until he stands erect over the park bathed in white light. A mum tells her toddler to "wave at Jesus," who now tilts his head to reveal a much-needed paint job on his eroded plastic neck. His palms swivel and his eyes shut. The tenth plane of the day roars past. As the Saviour descends, so too does the excitement. For the next 50 minutes, at least.
• Tierra Santa (tierrasanta-bsas.com.aris) is open on Fridays, Saturdays, Sundays and public holidays, entrance adult 50 pesos (about £7), under-12s 20 pesos (about £3)
