One conference won't change the world, but it can spread hope

The long line snaked past the shoe cubbies and head-covering bins. It terminated well outside the exhibit hall as hundreds of people ate—or waited to eat—lunch. Arriving a bit earlier or a bit later would have made no difference. Everyone wanted to be part of this spiritual practice, and we were no exception. Friendly young adults, dressed in white, moved down the line and cheerfully explained the history of the event. Soon enough, we were seated in a row on the floor. Another row of people sat facing us. One by one, servers brought trays: rice, curried vegetables, water, salad, a cup, utensils, mango lassi. Second and third helpings ensured that no one left hungry.

The Sikh community offered langar, which means “common kitchen,” to all 9,000-plus registrants at last week's Parliament of the World’s Religions. It was immensely popular, and I suspect this was not simply about the free food. The langar became the perfect symbol for the hope, courage, and conviction surging throughout the convention center. The langar practice was started by the first Sikh guru in 16th-century India. Serving everyone a free meal—regardless of religion, gender, or social status—was a revolutionary idea back then. Today, it serves as a reminder of the Sikh ethic that views all of humanity as one.

In many ways, the parliament is like any other conference. There are exhibit halls, plenary sessions with high-profile speakers (Jane Goodall and Karen Armstrong in this case), gathering spaces, and hundreds of smaller presentations to choose from. In other ways, it is unlike any other meeting in the world. Because it highlights the numerous and varied faith practices found across the globe, events are juxtaposed in unique and unexpected ways. Tibetan monks scraping chakpurs created a sand mandala just a few feet away from a small Jain temple. On the patio, one could enjoy Muslim rap, pagan-based dulcimer music, or a kirtan as one show seamlessly followed another.