I recently returned from the Parliament of World’s Religions held in Salt Lake City, Utah, with almost 10,000 people attending from all over the world and from every conceivable religion and spiritual tradition.

As the coordinator of the Interfaith Ministers of New England, I attended with a group of my colleagues Oct. 15-19. The first Parliament took place in Chicago in 1883 and is credited with being the birth of the global Interfaith movement. The 2015 Parliament was the sixth, with a 100-year gap between the first two.

The walk into the Salt Palace, where the event was held, began down a path flanked with two majestic teepees, the smell of sage wafting in the air. The Native American people kept a constant fire going, and with their smudging, drumming, and chanting, they held sacred space for us all, reminding us that we were on sacred ground.

The term “palace” is an apt description of the immense building that was built on this sacred ground. While it lacks the ornate quality one usually associates with a palace, the size alone inspires, if not awe, at least a sense of being overwhelmed. The organizers had tried to soften the architectural austerity of the building by hanging huge sculptures of birds from the ceiling, as well as banners with messages of peace.

Front and center in the cavernous entryway were the Tibetan monks in saffron robes, in silence, in dedication, in sacred discipline, creating a sand mandala, which grew each day in beauty and complexity. For me, their presence here was a touchstone, a way to hold what is impossible to hold in this fantastic array of religious traditions. The monks, like the native drummers, created a steady beat of the heart calling us into the center of our own beings.

Also gracing the entryway was a beautiful Jain temple built just for the Parliament. It was a structure without walls, of symmetrical grace with a shallow pool of water in the center. Participants were invited to enter the temple to sit in prayer or in quiet reflection. These three areas were not the only ones inviting anyone to step into another world, but they were the most visible and, for me, they were places I visited every day for renewal and rest.

How do I describe this feeling of being in a place where thousands of people have gathered in one place to champion the struggle to understand and celebrate our differences, who are passionate about making the world a better place, people who are dedicated to their own way of practicing religion or spirituality, but are eager to share with others and learn from others about their way? There may be no way to describe it except to say that it inspired a kind of vision of what the world could look like if our dreams came true: a fantastic array of human diversity, all with deep respect for those who are different, with a sense of being deeply connected in the desire for peace.

One of the most popular events at the Parliament was the Sikh tradition of Langar, which is the serving of a free vegetarian meal every day to anyone and everyone who comes to them. At this event it meant feeding 9,000 people every day, a staggering task which they did with such grace and generosity that it permeated the entire Parliament. Tired and overwhelmed people were fed what felt like manna for the soul.

The first day was billed as the first-ever Women’s Assembly. We gathered in a huge room to the heartbeat of drummers with red sarongs tied around their waists and T-shirts that said “Sheroes.” The stage was shared by the voices of women who spoke with power and grace and wisdom, who spoke for all the women of the world who have no power, who have no voice.

These large assemblies took place a couple of times every day with themes that covered major topics of our times: climate change; war, violence and hate speech; income inequality; and women’s dignity and human rights. One session was dedicated entirely to Indigenous people, and one called Emerging Leaders featured the voices of amazing young people making a difference in the world.

Every day brought a daunting array of choices. In addition to the speakers, there was a wide range of workshop offerings with all kinds music and art, film showings, spiritual practices and religious discussions, as well as what appeared to be spontaneous gatherings of people dancing and singing.

Like probably everyone there, I wanted to do everything, but clearly that was not possible. Besides the practice of prayer and meditation to ground me, I found that sharing this experience with my friends and colleagues gave it a richness and depth that held all of the disparate elements together. The joy of seeing a familiar face in the throngs of people was held alongside the jewel of moments that touched my heart: of talking to a Buddhist nun in the lobby of the hotel, of meeting the Hindu woman from California and the Muslim woman from Saudi Arabia who are writing a book together on their struggles with inter-religious dialogue.

It may take me months or years to integrate what I learned from this gathering, this microcosm of the diversity of humanity. But my very first reaction still holds true, which was one of great joy and hope in my heart. Witnessing the incredible passion and dedication of so many people giving their lives to the transformation of our planet helped me to see what is possible if we work together, if we find ways not just to “tolerate” the “other” but to celebrate the divine diversity that is our world.

The Rev. Cathy Grigsby is an Interfaith minister who teaches at the Chaplaincy Institute of Maine and is the co-founder and coordinator of the Interfaith Ministers of New England. She can be contacted at: cgrigsby@myfairpoint.net.