In my hometown of Simi Valley, California, we have a beautiful Holy Week tradition that helps us remember Christ’s sacrifice throughout the week. Atop Mt. McCoy, at the far western end of the valley, sits a cross originally erected in the early 1800s as a landmark for Spanish priests traveling between the Ventura and San Fernando missions. Since 1921 sunrise services have been held at the cross on Easter Sunday, and since 1941 (with a few exceptions) it has been illuminated every night during Holy Week by members of local community groups – some of whom have their families sleep overnight on the mountain to keep watch over the generator. On Good Friday, though, there is no light, a solemn reminder of that dark night.

As a child I loved seeing the cross lit up during that week and thought it was pretty, but my appreciation for what it represents has grown significantly as I’ve gotten older and experienced the pain of losing a loved one.