Tongues of Fire, Words of Home: A Pentecost Reflection for Diaspora Parents

Today, the Church turns a year older. And we, her children scattered across the nations, feel the wind of her birth rushing through us once more.

Pentecost. The day the Holy Spirit came like wind and flame, resting on the heads of trembling disciples and igniting their voices with unfamiliar tongues. Not heavenly gibberish, but languages — real, earthly languages from every corner of the known world.

The miracle wasn’t just in the speaking. It was in the understanding. Each person gathered in Jerusalem heard the Good News in their own mother tongue.

Let that settle in your heart.

The Holy Spirit didn’t erase their languages. It didn’t impose a new one. It sanctified the ones they already had — the words whispered by their mothers, sung at bedtime, shouted in joy, or wept in grief. These were the very words the Spirit used to proclaim salvation.

And here we are today: Filipino parents raising children far from the motherland. Scattered seeds, planted in foreign soil. Our children may know the scent of another land more intimately than they know the lullabies of our own.

It can feel like loss. Like something is slipping through our fingers.

But what if it isn’t?

What if this moment — this Pentecost — is our invitation to reclaim?

. . .

The Spirit Still Speaks

The Holy Spirit didn’t just come once, two thousand years ago. It comes still — in quiet nudges and holy promptings, in the sacred work of parenthood, in the soft power of stories shared around the dinner table.

And maybe, just maybe, It comes every time you say “mahal kita” to a child who pauses to ask what it means.

Because when you speak those words, you’re not just teaching vocabulary. You’re kindling memory — not only for your child, but for your whole family line. You are reaching across generations, standing in sacred continuity with the long line of nanays and tatays, lolos and lolas, who once spoke those same words with love and devotion to their children. Words that comforted. Words that corrected. Words that connected.

This is your inheritance — not just faith, but language. And by sharing it, you give your children more than roots — you give them a sense of belonging. Not just to a culture, but to a people. Not just to a family, but to a faith that is alive and multilingual.

In our family, we’re also gently introducing Latin, the sacred language of our Church. I didn’t grow up speaking it, but I was exposed to the Latin mass when I was younger, and I want my children to hear its cadence and beauty — to recognise it as part of the heritage of the Church and the saints. So they know how to make the Sign of the Cross in Latin, and every Easter leading up to Pentecost, we sing the Regina Caeli together. It’s simple, but it echoes something ancient: a reminder that the Church speaks many tongues, and each one is a bridge.

In that moment, your home becomes an upper room too. And you — Filipino parent in the diaspora, tired but trying — become a vessel of the same Spirit who once moved through tongues of fire.

. . .

Passing on Faith, Passing on Fire

For many of us Filipinos, Catholicism isn’t just a religion we chose — it’s part of the air we breathed growing up. It’s woven into family stories, fiestas, novenas, whispered Hail Marys, the Sign of the Cross before leaving the house, and Sunday Mass. It’s part of our lahi, our bloodline.

To pass on the faith, then, is to stand in sacred continuity — with our parents and their parents, and with the Church, whom we celebrate especially today. Pentecost is not just any feast — it is the birthday of the Catholic Church, the Church Jesus Himself founded. 

When we take our children to Mass, when we talk about why the priest is wearing red today, when we explain that red symbolises the fire of the Holy Spirit — we are planting seeds. Seeds that we pray will grow long after we are gone. We are helping them see that these traditions are not random or ritualistic, but formative. They connect them to their faith, their heritage, their ancestors — and to the God who has been faithful through every generation.

I don’t know how Pentecost is celebrated widely back in the Philippines. But for our family, it’s simple and sacred. We go to church together. We wear red to Mass. We notice the priest's red vestment. We light a birthday candle on a small cake and greet each other, “Happy birthday!”

These may seem like small gestures, but they matter.

They make faith visible. They turn doctrine into delight. They create memories that root our children in identity — as Filipinos, as Catholics, and as beloved children of God.

We don’t do it perfectly. But we do it deliberately.

Because what we’re passing on isn’t just tradition; it’s fire.

. . .

How We Celebrate Pentecost at Home
(…and how you might, too)

In our family, Pentecost is more than a story we hear at Mass — it’s something we enter into, beginning even with the Holy Spirit Novena in the nine days leading up to the day, and more on the day before.

On the eve of Pentecost Sunday, we prepare using Holy Heroes' Sunday Mass Prep resources. The short videos and printable activities help bring the Gospel to life for our children, and give us a chance to talk through what we’re going to hear at church the next day. More than just learning, it’s quality time together. It lets our kids approach the liturgy already familiar with the readings, ready to notice, echo, and respond.

On Sunday, we wear red, the colour of fire and the Holy Spirit. Even our littlest ones are invited to notice:

“What color is Father’s vestment today?”

“Do you remember why it’s red?”

We’ve been doing that since our firstborn was three or four, with the help of A Little Catholic's Book of Liturgical Colours. It’s how we first introduced colours to her — through books, through faith, through ritual. 

Because it’s the birthday of the Church, we always have cake. Most times it's a red cake with white candles — a reminder of the flame that never goes out.

Of course, we also read aloud together, choosing picture books and Bibles that bring the story to life. Some of our family favorites include:

• The Jesus Storybook Bible by Sally Lloyd-Jones
• The Day When God Made Church: A Child's First Book About Pentecost by Rebekah McLeod Hutto
• This is the Church by Katie Warner
• A Little Catholic's Book of Liturgical Colours by Theresa Kiser

These books don’t just teach — they invite. They give our children a way into the mystery. They give us, as parents, words to hold the wonder.

And of course, we pray. Sometimes clumsily, sometimes quickly — but always with hearts trying to listen.

. . .

A Prayer for Pentecost

 

Come, Holy Spirit,

Fill the hearts of your faithful.

Ignite in us the fire of your love.

Help us speak words that give life, in every language that matters — especially the quiet, ordinary ones we say at home.

Bless our children.

Let them hear, in our voices, Your truth,
Your tenderness, and the joy of being part of Your Church.

Amen.

. . .

Keep the Fire Burning 🔥

However small your effort may feel — reading one book, saying one prayer, teaching one word in your mother tongue — it matters. It’s a spark. A spark that joins with others. A spark that remembers its source.

This Pentecost, remember that you’re not doing this alone. You are part of a long and living line — of saints and storytellers, parents, clergy and catechists, and caregivers — who carried the flame before you, and who whisper now: Keep going. Keep teaching. Keep loving in the language that made you.

So wear red. Have cake. Give thanks. Sing. Blow candles. Tell the story. Let your home be an upper room where faith is spoken with love — in every tongue, especially your own.

Maligayang bati sa ating natatanging Simbahan! Come, Holy Spirit. Speak again.