What an Angel, a Mermaid, and Santa Claus Taught Me About How I Read the Bible

When the trailer for the new live action The Little Mermaid dropped, my wife had to tear herself away from the videos of little Black girls seeing the preview for the first time. The preschoolers and elementary students squealed and shrieked and jumped up & down. In Halle Bailey, they saw a girl who looked like them. Happy mommas filmed their reactions and affirmed their joy. For some, including my wife, that joy dripped from their eyes.

I don’t watch most of the Disney live action movies; but as the dad of a Black daughter, I support the canonization of a Black Ariel. She’s not just a fictional character; she’s a fantasy creature. A mermaid with Black skin is no odder to me than a woman of any color with scales & fins who can sing underwater. So, if a mystical young dreamer looks more like the beautiful young woman I taught how to drive, I’ll probably be buying multiple tickets to that feature film.

That said, between you and me, I paused the other day after a Thanksgiving lunch with our Black family and their relatives. As I talked to one of our Kenyan friends, I noticed that the Santa Clause on our breakfast bar was Black. That’s new, I thought. My wife does all of our seasonal decorating, and I saw her soft heart through that inclusive addition to her holiday decor. Because of Santa Claus’ European origins, I’d not thought much about a Black Santa other than from this song that makes my wife and daughter roll their eyes. As with The Little Mermaid, though, I didn’t have a problem with a magical, fictional character being Black. We all make Santa what we want him to be. Why not Black?

After our guests departed, I noticed more representation that wouldn’t have crossed my mind to incorporate into our family Christmas tradition. On the buffet stood a beautiful Black angel. There are thousands of unnamed angels in the Bible. I don’t know how many of them were female, but I’d bet a paycheck that none of God’s holy messengers or heavenly warriors looked like Henry Cavill or Chris Hemsworth. As much terror as they caused and with all of the other apocalyptic creatures described in Ezekiel and Revelation, some angels may not have even looked human. We don’t know. We can’t know. Regardless, a Black angel shouldn’t cause a mental record scratch any more than one with any other skin color.

Still, I did a double take. I stood there a moment, soaking it in. I hug a Black girl as often as she offers, and I’ve moved her laundry out of the dryer more times than I can count. I Cash app her allowance every Monday morning and pay the insurance on the Ford Escape parked outside of her on-campus apartment. I luxuriate in conversations on the couch with her long into the night and bring her home a new hoodie every time I take a trip that requires a commercial flight. I’ve laughed with her mom and probably her Uncle Timmy about how there are no caucasian people in the Bible.

And yet it never would’ve dawned on me to buy a Black angel Christmas decoration. My religious imagination was bleached by FlannelGraph characters who looked like they came straight from a church play in upstate Vermont. 

I’ve been working to undo some of that whitewashing of my Bible. Over the past few years, I’ve been reading theology books authored by men & women of color and their allies—those of African, Asian, Central American, and European heritages. I’ve read the work of missionaries who demonstrated how Westerners misread Scripture through various filters of our individualistic culture. I’ve studied the Bible with an Indian friend who explained things all of us white dudes in the circle missed. I’ve learned that the Bible wasn’t written by capitalists or communists, conservatives or liberals, Republicans or Democrats. Authors and podcasters have reminded me that most of Scripture was initially written by the oppressed for the oppressed—not for empire builders and empire maintainers like us Americans. 

In short, I’ve discovered that the Bible isn’t what I’ve thought it was. In a good way. It’s not a proof text for my preferences and proclivities. It’s not a security blanket to wrap around my political stances or any patriarchy. Jesus didn’t look like me, and his kingdom doesn’t look like my country has at any point in its history. And the best part? The real deal—whatever I someday will fully understand—is better than the constraints of my biases. The diversity of people in heaven and of the food on our banquet tables up there will embarrass our earthly assumptions. The actual characters of the Bible won’t look like me, speak in English, or discuss mermaids or yuletide characters with me.

I don’t know how our interactions with angels will go down in the next life or what those heavenly creatures will look like. But for years to come, a Black, female angel will stand guard over Christmas in my house to remind me to approach the Bible and its God while holding my instincts, traditions, and preferences loosely in humble hands. 

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Cover art is a combination of an edited image originally purchased from iStockPhoto.com and modified illustrations from Google Images.