Every Christmas, a familiar ritual unfolds in Filipino homes. Children rehearse greetings, parents prepare polite reminders, and ninongs and ninangs brace themselves for December’s quiet expectation: may pamasko ba? Over time, the tradition has hardened into something that feels less like generosity and more like obligation.
Strip away the custom, however, and the Church’s position is unambiguous.
In Catholic teaching, a godparent, technically called a sponsor, is not appointed to bankroll a child’s holidays. The role is explicitly spiritual. The Catechism of the Catholic Church defines godparenthood as “a truly ecclesial function,” tasking sponsors with helping safeguard and nurture the grace received at baptism. That grace is faith, not financial support.
The responsibility of a ninong or ninang begins and ends with guidance: to help ensure that a child grows up grounded in Christian belief and values, especially when parents falter. There is no mention of cash gifts, toys, or yearly December appearances. The obligation is moral, not monetary, and it is meant to last long after the Christmas lights come down.
The Church reinforces this seriousness by setting clear qualifications for godparents. Sponsors must be practising Catholics, at least 16 years old, and recipients of both the Holy Eucharist and Confirmation. They must live in harmony with Church teachings. Parents of the child are disqualified, as are those who do not practise the faith or openly reject its tenets. Non-Catholic Christians, while allowed to stand as witnesses, cannot serve as official sponsors.
Even the modern tendency to stack a child’s baptismal certificate with multiple ninongs and ninangs runs counter to Church norms. Canonically, only one sponsor is required, male or female, or at most one of each. The point is not pageantry, nor social obligation, but accountability.
So where did pamasko come from?
The expectation is cultural, not religious. Gift-giving evolved from Filipino notions of kinship, generosity, and social closeness, eventually attaching itself to godparenthood. Over time, the spiritual role was overshadowed by the material one, transforming ninongs and ninangs into seasonal benefactors rather than lifelong guides.
There is nothing inherently wrong with giving a gift. Generosity, after all, is a Christian virtue. But when it becomes compulsory, measured, tracked, or quietly demanded, it distorts the purpose of the role. It turns godparenthood into a transaction, and faith into a footnote.
In the end, the Church’s answer is straightforward: ninongs and ninangs are not obligated to give Christmas gifts. What is required of them is far more demanding, and far more enduring. To show up not just in December, but in the long, ordinary work of guiding a child towards faith, conscience, and character.
That, perhaps, is the gift that matters most, and the one that rarely comes wrapped.