He showed his intent from the trans-Atlantic moment he stepped into the rear of the jet carrying him to the United States, to answer questions from the journalists traveling with him. He responded to four. Topping the list: His condemnation of the clergy sexual abuse scandal that has so devastated the American church and its parishioners. (And in so doing, he clearly distinguished pedophilia from homosexuality, remarking that he would say nothing about the latter.) In another question, he spoke about the church's concern for immigrants and his own fear that harsh anti-immigrant policies break up families.

And so it has gone: In his speech to the bishops at the Basilica of the Immaculate Conception and in his homily at Nationals Stadium, he has struck two themes: his "shame" over the abuse and his respect for immigrants. (Along the way, he has pointedly reminded his American audience that their nation was largely built by immigrant labor.)

The pope has set his own agenda. He has already made this visit an historic one--breathtakingly so, if you consider the symbolic impact of the private meeting late Thursday, an encounter completely off the published schedule, between Benedict and five sexual abuse victims from the Boston Archdiocese, ground zero for the whole scandal.

Any reporter who tries to fit the old news templates from John Paul II's visits over Benedict's trip is going to miss the point, and badly. Nor does this visit have much resonance for America's partisan politics. Benedict has (at least so far) served up very meager fare for Republicans and Democrats alike: Not much either side can try to turn to its advantage.

What's happening is he's making news and the church he leaves behind will be a different place for it. Now it's up to journalists, among others, to discern that and to assess what the effects of his visit will be.