All fired up: like the family hearth, the Holy Spirit is the church's bright center, inviting all of us to come closer to one another.

I'M IN NO POSITION TO CRITICIZE LEO THE GREAT. AFTER all, he was a pope and a Doctor of the Church, and people don't call you "the Great" for nothing. But Leo once wrote something that is not quite true--or if it were true in his own time, it is certainly questionable in ours. In the fifth century Leo wrote, "The hearts of all Catholics are fully aware that this day's solemnity is to be venerated among the greatest of the feasts. We have no uncertainty as to the reverence due to this day."

The day to which he referred with such certitude was Pentecost. In the present generation I'd wager that it's by no means clear to many Catholics that Pentecost is among the greatest feasts, or that we ought to muster up some serious reverence for the occasion. If you asked most Catholics how they are going to celebrate Pentecost, in fact, they might wonder what planet you come from.

What are your family traditions around Pentecost? How do you decorate for it? What special foods do you habitually serve? We can answer these questions pretty readily about Christmas, Easter, or Thanksgiving because these occasions are true celebrations for us. They are feasts we prepare for and anticipate, marked by the gathering of loved ones and telltale, ritually prescribed events.

But heck, nobody prepares for Pentecost, buys a plane ticket home to share in the feast, or even sends one measly card to acknowledge the occasion. We mostly stumble into church that Sunday and are alerted to the significance of the day only if the music minister gives us a heads-up in the greeting. A very few of us will be aware that all those red banners draped around the sanctuary have a liturgical meaning: Today we celebrate the fire that burns in the heart of the church. Does this lack of anticipation mean that the fire has gone out? If we can't even recall what day it is, has Pentecost slipped beyond us? It probably doesn't matter if we don't have a family observance for this solemnity because it's not really a family event. It's a celebration of the arrival of the Holy Spirit and the kick-start of the church, so it's a day best acknowledged with your community of faith.

HOW OUGHT WE TO COMMEMORATE this day? The ideal way is by participating in the event itself; the outpouring of the Spirit's life on the members of the church. Take a look at El Greco's famous depiction of Pentecost to get a sense of what that would be like. Though the perspective is elongated, like much of El Greco's work, the gathering seems unusually dense, captured under a dim, domed ceiling. The Holy Spirit hovers not far above the room's occupants, and the Spirit is truly inseparable from the scene below.

Everyone's on fire, not just with the long flames that dance in the tongues above them but also with the kinetic energy of the power unleashed. They have become human flames, their limbs and throats and whole bodies quivering with the experience that's overcoming them. Following Luke's traditional portrayal of Pentecost in Acts, Mary is in the midst of the Twelve (with Matthias, newly recruited to replace Judas). Two other women are included in the scene, the unveiled one likely being Mary Magdalene. The account in Acts suggests there may have been as many as 120 people present for this occasion. El Greco, like most artists of the event, prefers to focus on the characters we know best.

In some medieval paintings of Pentecost, a crowd of foreigners is visible through a window, and they stand astonished by the Word of God communicated to them in their own languages. The artists of this scene concentrated on what was most enchanting to them about the occasion: the mighty wind that swept the house, the fiery out pouring, or the miracle of language that the tongues of fire suggest.

All three elements were important to Luke's presentation of Pentecost as "Sinai revisited." To appreciate Luke's message, it helps to know that the Jewish feast of Pentecost predates its Christian counterpart. The Jewish festival of Weeks (seven of them to be exact, after which the grain harvest was celebrated on the 50th day--in Greek, "Pentecost") was also an occasion commemorating the giving of God's law on Mount Sinai.

Luke deliberately mirrored that event with his description of the Christian experience on that day. Just as the top of Sinai rumbled with the stormy arrival of divine presence in wind and fire, so the upper room rocks with the power of the indwelling Spirit. Moses gets the Word of God written in stone; the church gets it as a living Word bursting out in a medley of languages.

IT IS NOTEWORTHY THAT, AS ARTISTS CONTINUED TO PORTRAY this scene through the centuries, the image of Mary at the center of the room increases in size until she positively dominates the gathering. Her disproportionately outsized presence becomes symbolic of her role as mother of the church. What happens to her that day, the artists imply, happens to all of us.

But does it? After the Renaissance, the Pentecost experience became a decidedly less popular subject for artists and was eventually abandoned. Perhaps inspired speech became a more uncertain gift to the church after the Council of Trent in the mid-16th century. Speaking the fire of Pentecost might just get you burned. Far better to concentrate on safe renderings of the Madonna and Child that invite the viewer to an uncomplicated adoration.

We might mourn the loss of the giant Mary of Pentecost, not dandling a baby on her knee but nurturing the whole brood of the church clustered around her. We should miss the incandescent disciples flickering with a force they can hardly contain and the luminous hovering presence of the Spirit that brings such wonderful mayhem into the room--and the world.

The Pentecost experience has hardly disappeared from Christianity, needless to say. Speaking in tongues is a phenomenon central to the worship of some Christians today, including Catholics involved in the charismatic renewal. And if we listen to the account of any young person recently returned from the latest papal encounter at World Youth Day or the couples just back from Cursillo, we can hardly doubt that the Holy Spirit still rocks.

Catching the Spirit is yet an option, and speaking the fire is still the goal. There is a language that can be universally understood from here to heaven. But how do we learn it?

WITH RESPECT TO POPE LEO THE GREAT, "THE HEARTS of all Catholics" still haven't quite grasped the full meaning of Pentecost. Maybe it is in the secret of our hearts that we stand the best chance of learning the mother tongue of human unity.

Love is a language we speak most meaningfully without words or beyond them. It is the only power that can solve the most pressing issues we face: how to communicate between the Christian West and the Muslim East, or between Palestinians and Jews, or among blue states and red states, or within a local parish divided by language, race, economic conditions, and sense of the church itself. If we don't learn the language of Pentecost that unites us all, we can only continue to speak the language of Babel that fragments the world in hostility and misunderstanding.

So let's make a pact. We can't change the world, but we can change ourselves. We can resolve to invite the Holy Spirit into our lives every day. A simple prayer will do; the traditional one still works: "Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful, and kindle in them the fire of your love."

Then, very simply, watch your mouth. If Pentecost is manifest in the spirit of unified language, we will know we are speaking the fire when our words accomplish unity. Our voices will probably become softer. Our manner of speaking will be less insistent on getting our opinions on the table, telling our story, or having our own way. The words we choose will be less accusing, gentler, and more supportive by degrees. In time we will learn to resist conversation that creates or fans division. When we speak the Pentecostal fire, we speak beyond differences, judgment, and blame, all the way to the language of reconciliation.

Maybe the artists of Pentecost were inspired in their inclusion of a giant Madonna at the center of the scene. Next time you are tempted to slay your opponent in an argument, imagine Our Lady of Pentecost sitting hugely between the two of you. Her enormity is filled with the Holy Spirit, and she's inviting you, in the Holy Spirit of unity, to resist being self-righteous, petty, blaming, and so darn sure of yourself. Maybe, in maternal fashion, she'll even grab both of you by the back of the neck and draw you close to her great body for a group hug. Just try to speak of differences after that.

ALICE CAMILLE, author of Invitation to Catholicism and The Rosary: Mysteries of Joy, Light, Sorrow, and Glory, both available from ACTA Publications.