If Camille Hernandez hears one more sermon in which a male pastor compares himself to Joseph resisting Potiphar’s wife, she might have to perform an exorcism.
So she writes in her forthcoming book, “The Hero and the Whore: Reclaiming Healing and Liberation Through Stories of Sexual Exploitation in the Bible.”
A trauma-informed educator and ethicist, Hernandez is tired of the worn-out, cliché and white-centric approaches to stories of sexual exploitation in the Bible. Drawing on her own exit from evangelicalism and her perspective as a Black Filipina, Hernandez reimagines these well-known but often glossed-over yarns of woe. In doing so, she posits that violence is not holiness, conversion should never be prioritized over care, and holy texts are more about questions than answers. A few she ponders in the book:
What if Sarai was a victim of trafficking, given to Pharaoh by Abram, who in turn trafficked Hagar?
What if Potiphar’s wife was a military spouse pressured to produce an heir, even as she participated in rape culture?
What if Queen Vashti, in the Book of Esther, was an anti-patriarchal figure condemned for refusing to be objectified?
Religion News Service spoke to Hernandez about talking back to Scripture, why she thinks Jesus is a pleasure activist and what so many sermons get wrong about Potiphar’s wife. This story has been edited for length and clarity.
In what ways have you identified with Sarai of the Bible?
There are decades of my life where I denied the fullness of myself, and identified myself according to people who were in power over me in a spiritual space. In white evangelicalism, I was very dedicated to colorblindness, which is so problematic. When I was in the Black Missionary Baptist Church, it was very rooted in being a Black woman but under a patriarchal system that was very homophobic. I aligned myself with the teachings of those in power and never questioned whether their teachings were aiming toward the movement of justice, because in my mind, it was the Word of God.
Being able to question authority later in life was what helped me see and understand myself and my seasons of being Sarai. Solidarity is not won through power. And if freedom is a global project, then we have to realize what ties us to power and what ties us to our obedience and allegiance to it is going to leave us completely unaware of all the other ways we can aid in the work of healing liberation.
What do you think most sermons get wrong about the story of Potiphar’s wife?
I’ve mostly heard sermons on Potiphar’s wife by white cisgender Christian males who are married. I think they’re really obsessed with women seducing them. The sermons don’t understand power dynamics. They don’t understand the culture of Egypt. The pastor just wants to say, once upon a time, this woman tried to seduce me. It feels like those sermons are built from their own egos. These pastors are more likely than drag queens or queer people to become people who, like Potiphar’s wife, are using their power to disenfranchise and sexually violate those who are powerless.
In your chapter on Rahab you write that the author of the Book of Joshua fails in the description of God. What do you mean?
People say God is the same yesterday, today and forever. But when you hold up this peacekeeping Jesus with this conquesting God, it’s not the same. That’s why I feel like this story is a failure in terms of its depiction of God. I feel like the chapters on genocide and conquest are more trash talking (by the authors) than anything else. I believe if we really are to pursue the peace Jesus says he provides for us, then we have to call into question, who was narrating that story? I want to believe God provides a multitude of solutions. And it’s up to us to choose one. I think Joshua chose the one that was available to his vision of safety and providence. But that doesn’t necessarily mean it provides peace. People died. Children died. Women were kidnapped, all under the banner of God. I have a hard time believing that everything that was written was of God. I think it’s OK to say our narrators put themselves inside the stories.
How have you encountered assimilation in your own life, and what might Jael teach us about resisting assimilation?
I am an Asian American woman. I’m also a Black woman, and I also identify as queer. Specifically as an Asian American woman, I have seen the ways in which my family, who are immigrants, have had to assimilate to power in order to survive. And I have also seen, as someone who identifies as queer, the ways I’ve had to assimilate, especially in churches, to show up as this cute little straight girl. I define assimilation as this ongoing experience of heartache because you don’t get to express the fullness of who you are.
Jael rejects assimilation because she owns a tent. Women aren’t allowed to own tents. And then it was her tent that Sisera sought. And it could be viewed as him going to her tent because she is matronly and would care for him. But there’s also this idea of Sisera going to her tent because he knows she has enough strength to protect him. It’s a confrontation to the gender binary.
Why do you call Jesus a pleasure activist?
A pleasure activist is someone who supports other people’s pursuit of pleasure so long as they are doing it in a manner that is safe. They say Jesus hung out with drunks and prostitutes. He was able to meet people where they were at in the ways that they were coping with the world. And celebration and gathering and partying is still an act of resistance. As a Filipino, I know this well. Especially as people who have assimilated into the culture of the United States, to be able to gather and speak our language and have our traditions and drink, those are the ways we resist the harm that’s caused by being in a colonial imperialist empire. So when I think of Jesus as a pleasure activist, I think of Jesus as someone who says, you’re living in an oppressive system that wants to disembody you. That doesn’t want you to enjoy yourself. But I’m here because I believe you deserve to enjoy yourself. You deserve to have joy, to have the embodied experience of connection and celebration.
What do you want readers to take away with them?
This book is very much written from my lens of being a trauma-informed practitioner. I’ve learned that healing always happens in relationship and in community. And this is a book that is trying to bring us to that site. It’s in direct opposition to Western Christianity, which is very individualistic. I think those who are seeking a trauma-informed approach to Scripture have to keep in mind that if it’s not centering the collective, if it’s only centering the individual, then it’s not going to heal the trauma, and it’s not going to break the cycle of violence.
