There are days in each of our lives that leave indelible marks. Our marriages, the births of our children, the loss we feel at the passing of someone we’ve spent our lives loving. Each personality we encounter, each experience we have — whether profoundly joyous or indescribably sorrowful — writes on what philosopher John Locke called the “tabula rasa,” the “blank tablet” of our minds. And some of that writing will never be erased.

For more than 600 people from the Archdiocese of Louisville, the joy of the April 20 Mass in New York City with Pope Benedict XVI is such a moment, as it no doubt was for the thousands who witnessed the events in Yankee Stadium from afar.

Being there was, quite simply, an unforgettable experience on any level one might want to consider.

Though the day began with a crisp, chilling wind and a low-hanging, gray overcast, it ended awash in springtime sun and a warmth that came from being in the midst of 60,000 people who were not just of like mind but of like hearts.

To describe the scene now seems almost a pedestrian effort, because the beauty of the day — and the people — surpass the ability of language to convey it. Consider this: The venerable stadium in which the papal Mass was held is on its last legs; the “House that Ruth Built” is due for destruction at the end of this baseball season. And those who spent part of a day there on that Sunday in April understand why it’s happening.

Facilities are outmoded; the aisles and concourses are narrow and difficult to navigate. Getting into and out of the stadium in such a crowd is a trial and a tribulation.

Yet during the entire day, whether standing in the slowly-shuffling lines trying to enter or leave the building or crowded among the seemingly ubiquitous crowds trying to get a soft drink, a hot dog or a Yankees souvenir, no one complained. And when you think about that single aspect of the day, it’s almost miraculous.

No one complained because they were there to profess their faith, and most importantly, to share their belief with their leader, the vicar of Christ, Pope Benedict XVI.

Pope Benedict followed one of the most popular and beloved popes in modern history, John Paul II. Much has been written about the legacy of Pope Benedict’s predecessor, a legacy that includes John Paul’s continued progress toward sainthood. But if the trip to the United States showed American Catholics anything about their current pope, it was that he has stepped from behind the lingering image of John Paul; he is casting his own shadow.

The pope warmed hearts and opened minds with his visit to Washington, D.C., and New York City. He addressed the church’s sexual abuse crisis; he reached out vigorously to young people in an appearance at a Yonkers, N. Y., seminary. He even offered a reflection of the time he was forced to spend as a member of the Nazi youth — a time, he said, in which the witnessed brutality of the Nazis led him to become a priest.

As heartening as his appearances were to U.S. Catholics, his words offer even more comfort — and guidance. In a language that was simple and direct, informative and inspirational, Pope Benedict noted the accomplishments of the American church and also the challenges it continues to face.

“In this land of religious liberty Catholics found freedom not only to practice their faith,” he said in his Yankee Stadium homily, “but also to participate fully in civic life, bringing their deepest moral convictions to the public square and cooperating with their neighbors in shaping a vibrant, democratic society.”

The pope drew enthusiastic applause when he said, “May you find the courage to proclaim Christ ... and the unchanging truths which have their foundation in him. These are the truths that set us free! They are the truths which alone can guarantee respect for the inalienable dignity and rights of each man, woman and child in our world — including the most defenseless of all human beings, the unborn child in the mother’s womb.”

The homily was interrupted by applause twice more, and when the Mass had ended, the cheers and applause were continuous until Pope Benedict left the stadium.

It was a day that left an indelible mark.