I love fireworks. I just love seeing them explode and brighten the dark night skies. I understand that not everyone does—they can scare pets and small children, and some people think the cost is a waste.
Where I come from fireworks are more accessible and we see them come out at every special event. Big church events like Pathfinder camporees often feature fireworks. Even so, fireworks never felt mundane to me. And although I saw them all the time, New Year’s Eve (NYE) fireworks were extra special. It felt like a rite of passage, as if I’d be stuck in the past year if I didn’t see the fireworks at midnight.
You’d think that after moving to Australia, I’d be itching to see one of the most iconic NYE spectacles in the world in person. Sydney is one of the first big cities in the world to celebrate the new year with a spectacle so grand that it involves eight tonnes of pyrotechnics and 15 months of planning.
It’s something worth seeing at least once in your life—and, after almost six years of procrastination, I still hadn’t. But when friends visiting from overseas asked us to go, we couldn’t deprive them of this experience. So we prepared.
We prepared really well. We woke up at 5am to get to Sydney in time to join the line before the park opened. We had food, a massive picnic rug, pop-up sun shelters, board games, the whole shebang—everything we needed to stay comfortable and entertained for more than 14 hours of camping. Other friends also joined us, and our group of 10 combined forces to secure a prime spot with a front-row view of the Harbour Bridge and Opera House.
The day went by really fast. It was kind of relaxing sitting by the water with friends and snacks. We had a great time—until we didn’t.
By 6:46pm, the park reached capacity. More than 36,000 people were crammed in. And some—who hadn’t arrived as early as us—started getting upset that we had a prime spot and enough space to sit comfortably as a group. They wanted the front-row view. A few confronted us directly, others resorted to passive-aggressive comments, and only a couple of them tried asking nicely. Tension was rising. We did our best to protect our spot, however our territory shrank as the crowds started encroaching.
At midnight, during the whole 12-minute spectacle, I felt incredibly small, yet so amazed. I was so close I could feel the vibration of the explosions in my chest. I stood there, mesmerised, thinking, If a man-made spectacle could be this grand, how much greater will Jesus’ second coming be?
No spectacle in this world will top what His return will be like. And the best part? We don’t need to fight for a spot. Scripture says that every eye will see Him (Revelation 1:7).
The question is: will we be ready?
All 10 virgins in Jesus’ parable (Matthew 25:1-13) had an invitation to go in to the wedding, but only five were prepared for the bridegroom’s arrival.
One of our friends who was most active in reasoning with those who wanted to take our spot would tell them, “We woke up at 5am to be here early and have this nice spot—where were you?”
Many responded that they live in Sydney—just a short trip away. Maybe that’s why they didn’t think they needed to come early. They assumed that because they were close, they would somehow get in.
Sometimes, being “close” to something can make us feel secure—even when we’re not. Being in the church for years can make us feel like we’re automatically prepared, but are we truly getting ready for Jesus’ return?
It’s easy to fall into routine—attending church, hearing familiar sermons—and thinking we are spiritually safe. Jesus warns against this kind of complacency. In Matthew 7:21, He says, “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only the one who does the will of my Father.” Being close isn’t enough—we must actively prepare, just like the wise virgins in the parable.
The fireworks were spectacular, but they lasted only minutes. Jesus’ return will be eternal—and that’s something worth preparing for now.
