In a conference room at the Anaheim Convention Center, hundreds of Spanish-speaking spectators listened intently to a scholar's lecture on sex and Catholicism.
Upstairs, a woman meditated on the errors of her life as she slowly made her way through an elaborate labyrinth.
And in a giant room two floors down, hundreds of vendors from across the country sold everything from Bibles to bobbleheads.
Ostensibly, the Los Angeles Religious Education Congress is a four-day training session for catechism teachers. But over the years, the event -- which this year attracted nearly 40,000 conventioneers -- has become one of the largest such gatherings of Catholics in the country.
It serves as a theological training center, a spiritual retreat and a makeshift bazaar for Catholic-oriented products. All at the same time.
"It's become a smorgasbord" for anyone with an interest in the Catholic Church, said Tod Tamberg, spokesman for the Archdiocese of Los Angeles. "People go to congress for different reasons . . . and that's reflected in the wide variety of religious, spiritual and even philosophical offerings."
For vendors, the convention is a chance to hawk religion-themed items to a huge crowd made up of catechism teachers, clergy, church groups and the few lay people who lucked into a ticket.
On sale were plush saints resembling the popular "American Girl" dolls, silver "Bible Bangles" with religious inscriptions, gold-plated Communion chalices and elaborately embroidered vestments selling for thousands of dollars.
At the booth for Meyer-Vogelpohl, which sells vestments, customer service representative Blake Callahan of Cincinnati helped a man try on a dark red chasuble, the outer garment priests wear while saying Mass. The man held his hands out as Callahan smoothed out wrinkles from the shoulders.
Then there was the magician.
Squeezed between a booth for anti-abortion activists and a bookseller, magician Angelo Stagnaro, wearing a bright purple velvet hat and black thin-rimmed Harry Potter glasses, drew a small crowd of children and adults. They watched attentively as he blended sleight-of-hand with catechism.
"Many people think Catholics believe in three gods," Stagnaro said, pointing to three knots in a rope. "But," he said as he made the knots disappear, "it's really one God in three forms." People smiled and clapped.
