“I don’t care what anybody says. All Swifties should get a day off on December 9. We are mourning. This is worse than any breakup ever.”
So said a reel I recently sent (in jest) to my friend and fellow Swiftie. For any Taylor Swift fan, the sentiment needs no explanation. But for those who wouldn’t define themselves as such (or who haven’t read the news): after 20 months and 149 shows across five continents, the global phenomenon of the Eras Tour has ended, leaving fans in mourning.
Rather than petitioning the ACR board for a day off, I decided to channel any sense of lament into reflections on the Eras Tour—undoubtedly a highlight of my year. I’m not alone in that opinion; many fans have called it the greatest night of their lives.
It’s hard to overstate the tour’s impact. As the BBC’s Claire Thorpe observes, we live in an era of blockbuster live shows, but there has never been anything quite as colossal as this.1 It is “live music at its highest spectacle”.2
Given the level of devotion of some fans, I don’t consider myself chief among Swifties, but I feel a deep affinity for Taylor—not least because we’re of a similar age, meaning her music has tracked closely with my own life’s eras. I’m excited to think about all she has yet to offer in the coming decades as she turns more life experiences into deeply relatable songs.
Against the odds, I managed to secure a ticket to see Taylor’s final night at Wembley, where she became the first artist to perform eight times on a single tour. The build-up to the day was equal parts fun and stressful: finding the perfect outfit, wondering if I’d be stranded at Wembley after the show, perfecting the lyrics to all ten minutes of ‘All Too Well’, lest I look like a half-hearted fan, unworthy of a much sought-after ticket.
The day itself
The atmosphere at the Eras Tour is described as unlike any other concert, with strangers embracing in their shared love for Taylor. In the final minutes before she came on stage, the anticipation was electrifying.
I knew what to expect after seeing the movie, yet the show’s opening didn’t disappoint. Each night, Taylor emerges from a puff of pastel parachutes to ecstatic, ear-piercing screams. Standing on the raised platform, she seems almost ethereal. Then she greets us: “Oh hi!” It’s hard to disagree with Claire Thorpe’s assessment that “the untouchable suddenly becomes attainable.”
The genuine thrill of seeing her emerge was exhilarating. Hearing her voice ever so slightly hoarse at first from four nights of shows was a testament to her really being there, in the flesh.
Yet, amid the delight, a quiet thought surfaced: “Oh, she’s still quite far away…” and “Oh, she’s quite small from up here…” and “Oh, look how many people are here.” For all my excitement, of course she didn’t actually know I was there.
These thoughts felt almost shameful amidst such ecstasy! I was truly glad to be part of this era-defining moment. For many, it really was everything they’d ever dreamed of. As Ryan Reynolds put it, the tour is “gigantic yet intimate”.3
Taylor connects with her fans in a way that makes her unique. That night, she did everything possible to make all 90,000 of us feel seen and valued. From the extended stage that brought her into the middle of the crowd, to her heartfelt words of appreciation, and her use of “we” and “us” (“We’re about to go on a little adventure together…”), she cultivated a sense of inclusivity. Each night, one lucky fan—usually an adorable child—got to go on stage to hug Taylor and receive the famous ‘22’ hat.
Taylor vs. Jesus
I’m sure you can see what’s coming. Because for those who know the God of the Bible, this experience can never be the best night of our lives. As incredible as Taylor’s efforts to connect with her fans are, they pale in comparison to the triune God, the maker of the universe, who took on flesh to dwell with us.
The friend who secured my ticket to the concert happened to be reading Dane Ortlund’s Gentle and Lowly while enduring the excruciating wait for the online ticket sale. She shared these words:
“You don’t have to go through security to get to Jesus. You don’t need to get in line or take a ticket. No waving for his attention. No raising your voice to make sure he hears you.”4
There is such irony in reading these words while on tenterhooks, hoping for access to a distant view of Taylor—wonderful though she is! Unlike Taylor, Jesus sees me in my smallness and insignificance. More than that, he’s the one who can tell me everything I’ve ever done (John 4:29). Yet his love draws him to me, even in my sinfulness. And on the day I see him face to face, there will be no hint of disappointment mingled with joy. Instead, it will surpass anything my earthly mind could ever imagine.
Though I’ll be gathered in worship with “a great multitude” (Rev 7:9), Jesus will know that I’m there. And I won’t be there as a fan, really, but as his—because, for his glory, he bought me at a price (1 Cor 6:19–20).
- Clare Thorp, ‘“Her fans are making pilgrimages”: How Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour became a near-religious experience’, BBC, 6 December 2024. ↩︎
- Andy Gensler, ‘The Showgoer: The Greatest Show On Earth — Taylor Swift’s “Eras Tour” — Is All That And Far More’, Pollstar, 17 August 2023. ↩︎
- Ryan Reynolds, ‘When I’m 95 years old…’, Instagram post, 31 October 2024. ↩︎
- Dane Ortlund, Gentle and Lowly: The Heart of Christ for Sinners and Sufferers, Crossway, 2020. ↩︎