The best stories often just happen. Frequently, they begin as a series of unplanned, spontaneous occurrences that no one sees coming; events that work together to first form a memory then quickly evolve to reveal a story worth telling.

Such were the origins of this story.

I’m not that old. Mid-50s, let’s say. I haven’t seen nearly as much as many others my age have seen. But what my wife, Karen, and I witnessed on a Philadelphia street the night of Sunday, September 27, moved us in a way we’ve seldom been moved before.

It began simply, like so many other best kinds of stories.

San Angelo Bishop Michael Sis was scheduled to be at the Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul to have his photo taken with a group of pilgrims from St. Mary in San Angelo. He was a little late. Not surprising because of the enormous number of people that crowded the streets of Philly following Pope Francis’ closing Mass in America.

At almost 7 o’clock, he appeared in a bunched-up crowd of people from everywhere. He searched for the St. Mary’s group until he spotted 24 yellow t-shirts.

We talked briefly and the bishop took a seat among the Angelo State University students on the steps of the basilica. He smiled for the camera, greeted every one individually, had selfies taken with most, and began to wrap things up. The folks from St. Mary were in somewhat of a rush: they had been told if they missed their bus, they would be better off getting back to their hotel on foot — a seven-mile walk — because of the logjam in the city’s transportation system.

The bishop and I were to do a video summarizing his comments on the papal visit and the World Meeting of Families. I figured it might take ten minutes. Then we’d go our separate ways and see each other back in Texas.

It had grown dark by then. Karen approached the bishop and said that a woman had asked her if she could receive a blessing from him.

The video would wait.

The bishop extended his arm and took the woman’s hands. He asked her name, and moments later, following a brief conversation, he reached up and touched her head. He made the sign of the cross and said a prayer in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.

Before the woman had received her blessing, two, maybe three more people formed a makeshift line behind her. As the minutes ticked by, people approached him one by one, asking for prayer. A few minutes later, a large group of Sisters of St. Francis of Perpetual Adoration from Mishawaka, Indiana, gleefully greeted him with an angelic song and received a blessing in return.

“I need you to pray for me,” Bishop Sis said.

The sisters continued to visit with him.

“No, no. Please pray for me now, if you would.”

And so they did.

Their brief encounter over, the sisters walked away, a song still in their hearts.

Since he had finished taking selfies with the parishioners from St. Mary’s, an hour had passed. Close to 100 people had filed by asking for a blessing.

And they just kept coming, out of the darkness.

One person approached the bishop, admitted she had forgotten her cell phone and could we please take a photo and message it to her. Then came another. And another.

The line shriveled to three or four, before growing again to 15 or 20. Families, individuals, men, women, children, young adults. All. One after another. From all over the world.

A mother and father from Mexico came with a family member, profoundly affected by a disability, non-communicative and confined to a wheelchair. Another couple from Africa stepped up, and took a selfie with the bishop. Together, the husband and wife, along with this man they had never met, checked the picture to make certain it was clear and in focus.

One by one. Two by two. Sometimes as many as six in a group they came. A palpable spirit of joy permeated the impromptu encounter.

An hour and a half passed. Then two hours. And when his work was done, an estimated 200 people had stepped up to this temporary prayer booth.

He met and greeted the last with the same amount of consideration and respect as the first.

Less than three hours had passed since Pope Francis had processed out of the public Mass in the City of Brotherly Love. He was gone. But on the streets of Philadelphia on this timeless and unforgettable night the message he had left America was very much present and alive.

“Faith opens a window to the presence and working of the Spirit,” the pope said in his homily. “It shows us that, like happiness, holiness is always tied to little gestures. ... (God) asks us to go through life, our everyday life, encouraging all these little signs of love as signs of his own living and active presence in our world. Would that all of us could be open to miracles of love for the sake of their own family and of all the families of the world.”

At least for one night in Philadelphia — but likely much longer for many — Pope Francis' message to America was being received. Loudly. And clearly.

Contact the author at [email protected].