The selfie phenomenon is something I still struggle to understand. Taking pictures of yourself with your smartphone wherever you go and sharing them with the world through social media feels bizarre – even more so when I catch myself doing it. But did you know it can actually be dangerous? I recently spotted a headline that read “Dumb tourists risk their lives for selfie with hippo.” Two things struck me: First, I love that headline. They didn’t even try to be neutral or professional anymore – they went full throttle with an attention-grabbing, judgmental headline leading with DUMB. Second, of course I had to click it. The video showed exactly what the headline promised – tourists getting closer and closer, taking pictures of this enormous creature who looked pretty docile (though the captions kept warning otherwise, as tour guides yelled at people to get away). I’ll be honest… nothing happened. The hippo looked up, seemed annoyed, people shouted to get away, and the video ended. Very anticlimactic.

Thank you for taking the time to read this homily for the FOURTH SUNDAY OF LENT (March 30, 2025). Your support means a great deal to me, and I’m deeply grateful for the many who share these messages with their friends, families and social media followers. If you’ve found meaning in these words, I’d be grateful if you’d share them with others who might benefit.

And for those who prefer listening, you can find the audio version on SoundCloud HERE or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes HERE. Your comments, messages, and the way you’ve embraced these homilies continue to inspire me.  Sincerely in Christ -Father Jim

But you know how the internet works. Suddenly my screen filled with suggested videos:

“BEAR MAULS MAN AS RESCUE WORKERS DESPERATELY TRY TO HELP” – Not what I’m looking for.
“WOMAN SCARES MOOSE” – Next.
“ANGRY ELEPHANT TOSSES TOURIST RAFT” – Tempting, but no.
“WOMAN MAULED BY JAGUAR WHILE TAKING A SELFIE…” – Now that’s more like it.

This story involved a woman who jumped a barrier at a zoo to get a selfie with a jaguar. The jaguar responded by clawing off her arm. She survived and apologized to the zoo – while suggesting they should make their barriers higher to prevent future incidents. How about just reading the signs and not climbing over them in the first place?

That article led me to a startling discovery: Wikipedia now maintains a page titled “List of selfie-related injuries and deaths.” It’s frighteningly long, with over 200 documented cases since 2011. People have fallen from cliffs, crashed airplanes, even burned to death getting too close to ovens – all while trying to capture that perfect self-portrait.

Reading these stories, you see a pattern emerge. Some people become so obsessed with themselves and their desires that they’ll do whatever they want, ignore any warning, put themselves and others at risk – all for that all-important selfie. While taking selfies might be new, this mentality isn’t. The obsession with self, the disregard for everything and everyone else in pursuit of what we want – that’s as old as humanity itself.

This brings me to tonight’s Gospel. Though we call it “The Prodigal Son,” that’s really just one part of the story. Every character, every moment offers something we could meditate on for hours. Take that beautiful moment when the prodigal son finally heads home: “While he was still a long way off, his father caught sight of him, and was filled with compassion. He ran to his son…” That’s how God the Father is – not inside stewing with anger, waiting for us to crawl back begging for another chance, but actively watching, waiting, running to meet us whenever we turn back to Him. That image alone should transform how we see the Sacrament of Reconciliation and encourage us to make a good confession, especially this Lenten season.

But what struck me most this time was how both brothers suffer from their own version of selfie-related injuries. Both are so focused on themselves, their wants, their desires, that they hurt everyone around them.

Brother #1 wants to be where the action is, giving in to every temptation and obsession the world offers. He’s willing to trade everything – a loving family, a loving home, a father who’s given him everything – just to pursue empty promises. In asking for his inheritance early, he’s essentially saying he wishes his father were dead so he could get his money and do his own thing. Talk about selfie-derangement syndrome.

But then there’s Brother #2, who’s usually an afterthought when we hear about the lavish reconciliation his brother receives. He’s so angry he won’t even call him “brother” anymore – notice how he says “your son” to his father. But his reaction reveals what’s been in his heart all along. With his brother gone, he thought he’d be the favored son, getting better treatment and more recognition. Here’s what’s really telling: during all those years of “faithful service,” he never noticed or cared that his father was heartbroken over his lost son. Another case of selfie-derangement syndrome.

The beauty of this Gospel, which we reflect on just past the mid-point of Lent, is how it invites us to see ourselves in the story. Maybe we’re feeling distant, having made choices that took us far from home. Maybe we’re here every Sunday, involved in every ministry, but harboring resentment in our hearts. Either way, we all need constant conversion. None of us has it perfectly figured out.

That’s why someone like St. Francis of Assisi – a saint who inspires millions – could say, “We may know with certainty that nothing belongs to us except our vices and sins.” He wasn’t being self-deprecating; he was being honest. Francis understood his constant need for conversion, for change. He knew Jesus would transform his heart the more honest he was with himself.

The same holds true for us. In our world today, selfie-related injuries and deaths on a spiritual level have reached crisis proportions. We can easily give in to temptations that appeal to our self-centered impulses, luring us from the Father’s house. Or we can become like the elder brother, so focused on others’ failings that we miss the Father’s sadness for those who are lost.

But here’s what makes this story so powerful: God isn’t interested in our perfect poses or carefully curated images. He’s interested in our hearts – messy, broken, and real as they are. Jesus shows us the Father’s heart in this way. He wants all of us – each and every one. Not just the perfect version we try to present to the world, but our authentic selves with all our flaws and failures. Right now, He’s watching, waiting, ready to run down the road to meet us. The only question is: are we ready to stop posing and start walking home?