ST. LOUIS • The Friday morning scene on Level 2 of the Edward Jones Dome near the concession stands resembled something closer to a strip mall on Black Friday than the hour preceding a worship service.

Hundreds of women lined up outside a temporary "boutique" with displays of $25 T-shirts and $40 hoodies emblazoned with messages like "Love Revolution" and "Think Happy Thoughts." A staff member controlling the flow of shoppers into the cordoned-off area wondered aloud whether a bullhorn would help.

Nearby, a crush of women lined up three deep at a long U-shaped table to pick up copies of DVDs and books, most bearing the smiling face of the woman they'd all paid an average of $55 to see and hear this weekend.

Of course, it's likely all of them had seen Joyce Meyer on television, or heard her on the radio, before. And a good percentage had probably also seen her live at one of the many conferences Joyce Meyer Ministries puts on across the country each year.

Many were veterans of this very event — a forum just for women that Meyer has convened annually in St. Louis for 28 years. The first one drew 65 women. At its peak, the conference brought in 25,000. This year 17,000 women came from all 50 states and 21 countries to hear the no-nonsense, populist version of the Gospel that Meyer preaches.

"In some way, shape or form we all have something in our lives we're dealing with," said Michelle Madl, 45, from Rhinelander, Wis., who was attending her second women's conference. "But we come together here, as women, to meet new friends and to help each of us see we're not in this alone.

"It's such a fantastic time of spiritual renewal and self awareness," she continued. "And it helps remind us we are daughters of God."

For many of the women, seeing and hearing Meyer was worth the journey and money they spent on airfare, gas, hotel rooms, conference tickets and food.

"I watch Joyce on TV, and I've read lots of her books," said Linda Donald, 46, of Jackson, Miss.

Her friend, Gwendolyn Sample, 42 of Pickens, Miss., added that she was "ready to get a fresh word from Joyce."

"I love Joyce, and I've followed her ministry for years," said Brenda Costello, 60, from Arnold. "I just love to hear the word of God preached in this atmosphere."

The atmosphere created by Meyer's staff during the event is a mixture of humor, inspiration, pampering and all-out consumerism. If women like Costello came for Meyer's preaching, they were also here for the stuff.

That included many of Meyer's 80 books, some of which were being offered at a 20 percent discount. Women could pick up Meyer's DVDs for $20 each. Ministry staff pushed Meyer's books and workbooks from the stage. Pamphlets available throughout the conference offered "partnerships" — monthly donations to the ministry bolstered by Scriptural justification for giving ("It is more blessed to give than to receive." — Acts 20:35).

But in the face of such peddling, women like Jennifer Lake, 41, of Festus, were anything but bothered. Lake was carrying a bag full of new Joyce Meyer purchases around the Dome Friday morning and saw no conflict between the collective spiritual sisterhood on display and the equally evident commercialism.

"There are plenty of women who can't be here this weekend, and we can support them financially in this way," she said.

Madl said, "I know where the proceeds are going and the impact they have with the wonderful things this ministry does."

Ensuring women feel appreciated, relaxed and comfortable is a big part of Meyer's annual conference. Women in the crowd won everything from free massages and makeovers to $250 Walmart gift certificates to a home addition.

"Part of our goal is to make everyone feel loved and special," Ginger Stache, the ministry's chief media officer, told the crowd Thursday night.

Meyer is known as a champion of the so-called prosperity gospel, which ties financial generosity and wealth to physical and spiritual well-being.

Shayne Lee, a sociology professor at Tulane University and author of "Holy Mavericks: Evangelical Innovators and the Spiritual Marketplace," compared Meyer to George Whitefield, the 18th-century British evangelist who toured the colonies preaching the Gospel and becoming "the first American celebrity."

"What (Meyer) is doing is carving out space in market share and converting Christianity into a commodity," Lee said. "She proves that Christianity can compete in the marketplace."

Roby Walker, the ministry's chief operations officer, said the conference costs "millions" to stage, and that total receipts the ministry brings in from the conference — from ticket sales to book and DVD sales — add up to "about $2 million to $3 million."

The ministry says sales of the clothing in the conference "boutique" go to help needy children.

"Our goal is to cover the expenses of the conference and break even," Walker said.

Ministry officials say Meyer is a worldwide phenomenon and could hold the women's conference anywhere, but she chooses to return it each year to the Fenton-based ministry's home town.

Walker pointed out that conference attendees have booked 4,000 hotel rooms this weekend and are spending money on local restaurants and shops between Meyer's teaching sessions.

The women were also asked four times over the weekend to contribute to a collection, Walker said. Envelopes are passed out to those who want to give. Walker said the money goes toward feeding programs and support for the Meyer's media ministry.

"We may say that money targets one thing right now, but it really depends on where Joyce says the greatest need is at the time," Walker said.

As she spoke about the parable of the Prodigal Son on Thursday night, Meyer paced the stage in black pants and a black leather jacket. A big diamond ring sparkled from her left hand and long earrings dangled from her ears.

While much has been made of Meyer and money, the women attending her conference looked beyond the sparkly jewelry toward the message at the heart of Meyer's preaching.

God, Meyer said to hoots and cheers Thursday, loves a party. The evidence is that Jesus' first miracle was to turn water to wine at the wedding in Cana. "Jesus made the party better," she said, smiling.

Meyer looks and sounds like the women in her mammoth, middle-class congregation. She is their husky-voiced, sassy neighbor who speaks wisdom directly to the broken lives many of them lead. They recognize her vocabulary, her sense of humor, her demeanor of world weariness. When Meyer says her back is killing her and she needs to put her feet up, these women respond from a place of deep empathy.

"We pray for all we left at home," she said to loud applause Thursday as she welcomed her flock to St. Louis. "We pray for the husbands, the kids, the baby sitters and all the dishes left in the sink. We pray for it all."