There’s something deeply disorienting about watching someone take a selfie with a corpse—especially when that corpse is the Pope.
This week, as tens of thousands flocked to Vatican City to pay their respects to Pope Francis, what should have been a sacred goodbye quickly turned into a photo op. The basilica stayed open nearly all night. The lines stretched for hours. And yet, the dominant image wasn’t prayer or reflection—it was a sea of smartphones, screens glowing above the late pontiff’s coffin, capturing content instead of grief.
See also: John Paul I, the Pope Who Lasted Only 33 Days: The Strange, Shadowy Story Behind His Death
Selfies with Pope Francis: A Funeral or a Feed Event?
By the time Francis’ body—dressed in his red papal robes and white mitre—was laid out in St. Peter’s Basilica, over 50,000 people had shown up to see him. But not all came in silence.
Photos show mourners holding phones high above their heads to catch a glimpse. Some brought selfie sticks. One woman was photographed smiling directly into her camera, the Pope’s lifeless body just ten feet behind her.
Despite some light warnings to keep cameras away, there was no official photo ban—only vague guidance to “remember where you are.” And in a culture that prioritizes going viral over going inward, that wasn’t nearly enough.
Even nuns were caught in the act, phones in hand. The line between reverence and recognition collapsed.
See also: The Trans Man Who Met Pope Francis—Remembers How They Changed the Church Forever
“I Was There” Culture and the Death of Private Grief
This wasn’t a case of raw, uncontrolled emotion. Quite the opposite: it was orchestrated grief, carefully lit, filtered, and uploaded.
Janine Venables, a visitor from Wales, told MailOnline that she was stunned to see people snapping selfies after being told not to take photos in the Sistine Chapel:
“I did think that was a bit in poor taste and I’m surprised no one stopped them.”
Her husband added:
“I said to someone in the queue ‘I wonder what Pope Francis would make of all this?’ and they said ‘He would say don’t waste your time here—go and do something for people less fortunate.’ He was probably right.”
He was. Francis, the pope who preached humility and inclusion, who hated spectacle, would almost certainly be mortified to see his final moments turned into social proof.
See also: Pope Francis’s Most Controversial Reforms—and Why They Matter Now
This Isn’t Just Disrespect—It’s the New Normal
The Vatican may have expected a spiritual outpouring. Instead, it got a real-time case study in how mourning has mutated into performance.
People didn’t come to be changed. They came to be seen. They came to show they were there, not to feel what it meant.
And in a digital ecosystem that demands constant participation, even death becomes content. The Pope wasn’t just laid to rest—he was laid out for Instagram.
See also: “If I Can’t Marry You, I’ll Become a Priest”: Pope Francis Love Story That Changed His Life Forever
When Mourning Is Just Another Metric
So yes, the Pope is dead. But the deeper loss may be our ability to mourn without curating it.
The lines to see Francis’ body stretched past midnight. But in between prayers and rosaries, there were ring lights and rehearsed angles, floating arms and iPhone lenses. It’s not that grief is disappearing—it’s that we don’t know how to hold it unless someone else sees us doing it.
And maybe that’s what this moment reveals: not that people have stopped caring, but that even caring now comes with a caption.
