It’s often called the most wonderful time of the year—a season meant to sparkle with joy, rest and reunion. And yet, as the Christmas–New Year period slipped quietly into the past, there was an undercurrent of sadness.
In the lead-up to Christmas, Australia was shaken by the senseless violence at Bondi, where 15 people were killed. Just three days after Christmas, a 41-year-old father who worked for my husband died suddenly. On New Year’s Day, a Sydney mum lost her life, reportedly while trying to save her young son in the surf on the first day of their family holiday. There were the lives—many of them young—lost in the tragic Swiss bar fire on New Year’s Eve. Then, the bushfires started. For countless families, this season was not one of celebration, but of shock, grief and deep sorrow.
Moments like these remind us that heartbreak does not pause for public holidays. And as we step into 2026, we do so knowing more challenges will come. There will be people struggling quietly. Others overwhelmed by despair. Some simply trying to get through another day. The question is not whether darkness exists—but how we, as Christians, choose to respond.
In the aftermath of the Bondi tragedy, a simple but powerful initiative emerged: “One Mitzvah for Bondi”. It called on people of all faiths and communities to unite through acts of kindness. In Jewish tradition, a mitzvah is a commandment from God, a sacred obligation. Over time, the word has come to describe an intentional act of human kindness: small actions, offered willingly, that together create a wave of goodwill and bring light into dark places.
The idea resonates deeply with the Christian calling. Jesus spoke often of light—not as something abstract, but as something lived. Kindness offered. Compassion extended. Love made visible through action. We can’t fix everything. We can’t undo tragedy or erase grief. But we can show up. We can notice. We can act.
So as this year unfolds, the question is simple: what act of kindness will you choose? What light will you bring? Because sometimes, the most powerful response to darkness is not grand or dramatic—but quietly, faithfully doing good.
