Sarah E. Moffett

Ever heard of a “Living Christmas Tree”? I hadn’t, and that’s saying something as the product of a devoutly Baptist upbringing. Then I walked into First Baptist of Alexandria this past Sunday. The Everest of Christmas Trees had sprouted up from the stage, expanding the entire width of the choir loft and was topped with a star touching the ceiling.

My highly sophisticated and in depth spiritual response? “Woah.”

I was promptly elbowed in the side. Apparently “woah” was not the appropriate response.

Inbetween songs, I learned from clipped, whispered phrases that a Living Christmas Tree is a Christmas cantata, of sorts, only the choir members sing from within the tree instead of the choir loft.

“Within the tree?”

“Yes.”

“But how?”

“They stand around the tree.”

I eyed what appeared to be an unsteady, but ascending series of steep and narrow platforms. The lawyer in me couldn’t help it. “How do people not fall off?”

“It’s impossible. And claustrophobic.” I eyed said friend. Clearly someone had been holding out on the personal stories.

During the service, it was announced that all but one of the seven “concerts” were sold out, and the remaining show only had a few tickets left. Considering that the prerequisite to being a Baptist is procrastination and gluttony, I was understandably shocked at this spontaneous display of forethought and planning. Like all good Americans, I immediately reacted to the Keynesian economics based advertising, and recommended to my friend we obtain tickets ASAP. (Read: that we bolt during the closing prayer to secure a few tickets). This suggestion was politely declined. (Read: elbowed again). Pew bound until the closing song it was.

The last word of the closing song, “O Little Town of Bethlehem” was barely out of the congregation’s mouth before we were maneuvering for the door. God must have appreciated my friend’s respectful sense of propriety, because we scored some of the last treasured tickets for First Baptist of Alexandria’s Living Christmas Tree Production despite me being nearly mowed over by an equally zealous 85 year old with a very large walker.

Since acquiring the coveted tickets (can one say that about a church function?), I’ve learned from multiple sources that this is an annual traditional for many Northern Virginia residents, regardless of religious affiliation. I’m just wondering how I missed out all these years on seeing people willingly cram themselves around a tree like pomegranate seeds while precariously balanced on rickety platforms and old scaffolds to belt Christmas carols under hot lights.

Now if only I could figure out how to smuggle in some popcorn, I’d be set.

*I am fully aware the above cartoon is barely tangentially related to this blog. It was late. It amused me. So it’s there.

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