The U.N.'s Convention on the Rights of the Child was adopted in 1989, and the committee has held regular hearings since 1991 to monitor implementation in the 193 counties that have ratified it.
In that sense, there was nothing exceptional about Thursday's session, since the Holy See is just one more signatory nation.
Yet the fact that this was the first time senior Vatican personnel have appeared in full public view (the session was webcast around the world) to talk about the abuse scandals in a venue where they couldn't set the tone or control the conversation made it undeniably fascinating.
Heading into the event, anyone familiar with the Vatican's history of occasionally tone-deaf commentary on the abuse crisis had to be holding their breath. If nothing else, Thursday seemed to demonstrate that they've learned something.
Rome dispatched two figures well suited to engage criticism: Italian Archbishop Silvano Tomasi, a career diplomat who represents the Vatican to the U.N. in Geneva, and Maltese Auxiliary Bishop Charles Scicluna, the Vatican's former top prosecutor on abuse cases who is widely seen as a leading voice for reform.
(It was Scicluna who provided the day's sound bite by insisting that the Vatican now "gets it.")
Both proved unflappable in the face of fairly aggressive inquiries, some of which were about specific scandals -- such as the notorious "Magdalene laundries" cases in Ireland and recent revelations in Spain that as many as 300,000 children may have been surreptitiously removed from their families and sold into adoption via church-run centers -- and broad matters of policy, such as the willingness of church officials to cooperate with criminal probes and the sort of anti-abuse training offered both to church personnel and to children in Catholic venues.
"No interest should obstruct the functioning of domestic law in the country" where an act of abuse has occurred, Scicluna said, "whoever or whatever institution is involved."
(As an old Rome hand, Scicluna is well aware that many Catholic prelates have used the term "non-negotiable" to characterize the church's stands on life issues such as abortion and gay marriage, so his application of it to the fight against child abuse meant he was not just speaking to the U.N. panel, but in a way was speaking to his fellow bishops, too.)
Tomasi likewise defined the abuse scandals as "a wound that hurts the community of faith" and said the church today feels not just a "legal" but a "human, moral and spiritual commitment to defend the principles of the convention that protect children."
In his prepared remarks, Tomasi said the church wants to be "an example of best practice" in child protection.
The U.N. panel has no power to compel nations to do anything, but it's expected to issue a set of recommendations to the Vatican based on the hearing.
Judging by the tone of Thursday's exchanges, they're likely to feature admiration for the strong commitment to reform voiced by Tomasi and Scicluna, tinged with skepticism about how consistently that commitment is applied to specific cases.
Though critics of the church's record issued statements calling the Vatican presentation disappointing, the experts seemed eager to believe something has changed.
Sara de Jesus Oviedo Fierro of Spain said the committee now has "great expectations that new steps will be taken, that dialogue with civil society will happen, [that] this will become a reality. This will attest to this new era, this new dawn for the Holy See."
Here are three other takeaways from the Thursday U.N. hearing.
First, Tomasi confirmed that Polish Archbishop Jozef Wesolowski, the former papal ambassador to the Dominican Republic removed in August and facing allegations of child sexual abuse, will be prosecuted by the Vatican's criminal tribunal "with the severity the case deserves."
(Actually, Tomasi used the word "judged," which is getting ahead of things a bit since a preliminary investigation is still underway and technically, Wesolowski hasn't yet been charged with a crime.)
From the Vatican's point of view, Wesolowski is a citizen of the Holy See and a former papal agent, so he's subject not only to the ecclesiastical penalties that apply to all clergy under canon law but also the criminal code of the Vatican as a sovereign state.
Assuming a trial goes ahead, it will almost certainly be the most-watched session of the Vatican tribunal since the October 2012 prosecution of Paolo Gabriele, the erstwhile papal butler charged with being the mole at the heart of the Vatican leaks affair.
Since the Vatican repeatedly has pledged a new culture of transparency with regard to the abuse scandals, it will likely face considerable pressure to make any proceeding in the Wesolowski case as public as possible.
The last thing the Vatican probably needs is the perception that it's conducting its own trial in order to sweep the truth under the rug.
Second, most of the immediate blowback against Thursday's presentation by Tomasi and Scicluna focused on the claim that Rome is not responsible for supervising the more than 400,000 Catholic priests of the world, which falls instead to local bishops and religious superiors.
Repeatedly, Tomasi and Scicluna offered statements of principle as to how the church ought to operate, but were then forced to concede that implementation varies widely at the grassroots.
Critics found the claim that the Vatican can't take direct control of the situation disingenuous.
"We're very saddened that such a huge and powerful church bureaucracy continues to pretend it's powerless over its own officials," said a statement from the Survivors Network of those Abused by Priests.
In fairness, insistence on the autonomy of the local church is perfectly consistent with both official Catholic ecclesiology and actual practice in the church.
It's worth noting that a federal judge in Oregon, who's a Mormon with no dog in Catholic fights, took a close look at the contention that priests are "employees" of the Vatican in a lawsuit related to the abuse scandals in 2012 and ruled that they clearly aren't.
Nevertheless, the skepticism those claims elicited Thursday illustrates the uphill climb the Vatican faces in trying to persuade people that it couldn't impose its will if it really wanted to.
In truth, this has long been one the paradoxes generated by the sex abuse mess.
For decades, church reformers (especially on the liberal end of things) have clamored for greater collegiality in Catholicism, and they applauded vigorously when Pope Francis pledged support for a "healthy decentralization" in his recent document, Evangelii Gaudium.
Yet when it comes to sex abuse, they seem to want the exact opposite -- they want the long arm of the law to reach down from Rome and crack heads.
What this perhaps suggests is that theologians working on the nature and limits of papal authority and the relationship between local churches and Rome need to sit down with the child protection people to make sure that the real-world experience of the abuse scandals is brought into the conversation.
The truth of it may be that a strong pope is a bit like a lawyer -- everybody loves to complain until they need one.
Third, the sex abuse crisis is where two powerful narratives about Catholicism collide.
One is that the church is a secretive institution devoted above all to protecting its own interests, so that claims of turning over a new leaf are viewed through a lens of suspicion; the other is that Francis is a reforming pope genuinely committed to the poor and the vulnerable, and people seem hungry to believe that he'll do the right thing.
The tenor of the questions I fielded on CNN about the hearing in Geneva clearly reflected this collision, since most of these segments ended with the host asking when Francis was going to clean things up.
In terms of what would count for most people as proof that Francis is committed to doing that, one step would be to publicly discipline a bishop who's failed to make a "zero-tolerance" policy stick.
When the pope removed the so-called "bling bishop" in Germany for spending $42 million remodeling his residence, it sent a clear signal that Francis is in earnest about his vision of a poor church for the poor.
A similar move with a bishop who failed to abide by the church's new anti-abuse guidelines could have a similar impact on perceptions.
On background, Vatican officials say figuring out how to process these "negligent supervision" cases is high on their to-do list and is potentially something the new papal commission on the protection of minors announced by Cardinal Sean O'Malley in December could examine.
If anything might help the second narrative sketched above, "Francis the reformer," prevail over the first, which amounts to "same-old, same-old from the church," the sight of the pope calling a negligent bishop to account may well be it.