A young woman sits at her kitchen table, staring at an eviction notice. Behind her, her children play, unaware that in three days they’ll be sleeping in a car. Across town, a businessman checks his stock portfolio—$12 million in gains this quarter alone. He reads about the growing housing crisis, shakes his head, then turns the page to the sports section.

We’ve been told for generations that Sodom and Gomorrah were destroyed because of sexual sin. We’ve built entire cultures of shame around this story. But what if we’ve been reading it wrong? What if God’s judgment had nothing to do with who people loved, and everything to do with how they—or didn’t—love their neighbors?

Quick Recap: The Story of Sodom

For those who may be new to this story, here’s the brief version: Two cities—Sodom and Gomorrah—were destroyed by fire from heaven in Genesis 19. Two angels visited the city disguised as travelers. Lot, the only righteous man there, welcomed them into his home. But the men of the city surrounded Lot’s house, demanding the visitors be handed over for abuse. God had already determined to destroy the city, but not before a dramatic negotiation with Abraham, who asked: “What if there are fifty righteous people?” Then forty-five, thirty, twenty, ten. God agreed to spare the city for just ten righteous people—but there weren’t even that many.

Scripture: The Other Text About Sodom

Listen to what the prophet Ezekiel says about Sodom:

“This was the guilt of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had pride, excess of food, and prosperous ease, but did not aid the poor and needy. They were haughty and did an abomination before me.” (Ezekiel 16:49-50)

Did you catch that? Not one word about sexuality. The prophet—speaking for God—lists four sins: pride, gluttony, indifference to the poor, and arrogance. And then, vaguely, “an abomination.” But the abomination isn’t defined as sexual—it’s the cumulative effect of living for yourself while others suffer.

Sodom’s sins were complex—multiple prophets and New Testament authors reference the city for different failures. But Ezekiel, speaking for God, explicitly names the sins that sealed their fate. Today, we’ll focus on this dimension because it’s the one that challenges us most directly.

The Real Story: Hospitality Denied

When the two angels arrive in Sodom, Lot—Abraham’s nephew—sees them in the city gate. He knows what will happen to strangers here. He insists they stay at his house. Why? Because in the ancient Near East, hospitality wasn’t a courtesy—it was survival. Travelers had no hotels, no credit cards, no Airbnb. Without someone to take them in, they were vulnerable to robbery, assault, or death.

But the men of Sodom surround Lot’s house and demand: “Bring them out so that we may know them.”

For centuries, we’ve read this as a sexual demand. But the Hebrew word yada—to know—can also mean to dominate, to violate, to exert power. The sin of Sodom was using strangers as objects of domination rather than guests of honor. It was about dehumanization.

And here’s the kicker: Genesis 18 tells us that Sodom’s fate was sealed before the angels ever arrived. God had already decided to destroy the city. The events of Genesis 19 weren’t the cause—they were the confirmation of what Sodom had become.

Jesus’ Perspective: Worse Than Sodom

Jesus himself references Sodom. In Matthew 10, he tells his disciples to travel from town to town, preaching the gospel. He says: “Truly I tell you, it will be more bearable for the land of Sodom and Gomorrah on the day of judgment than for that town.”

Why? Because those towns will reject God’s messengers—they will refuse hospitality to the very ones bringing good news. Jesus compares rejecting a message of hope to Sodom’s sin. Sodom wasn’t about sex—it was about rejecting God’s work in the world.

What This Means for Us

Friends, we live in a new Sodom. Not because of who people marry or how they express love. But because:

• We have excess food. In the United States, we throw away 40% of our food while 38 million people face hunger.
• We have prosperous ease. The top 1% owns more wealth than the bottom 90%. Meanwhile, essential workers—those who kept society running during the pandemic—struggle to afford rent.
• We have pride in abundance. We build our identities on what we own, not who we are becoming.
• We do not aid the poor and needy. We see their needs and look away. We vote for policies that protect our accumulation rather than our community’s well-being.

The sin of Sodom is not sexual—it’s economic. It’s the belief that my comfort matters more than your survival. It’s the conviction that I deserve what I have and you don’t deserve help.

But here’s the good news: change is possible. Last year, our community food pantry saw 45 families sign up as volunteers—not just recipients. One couple started a meal train for new parents who couldn’t afford groceries. When the city cut funding for after-school programs, this church stepped in and now 47 kids have a safe place to go after school. These aren’t small things—they’re the ten righteous people who could save a city.

The Gospel: Radical Hospitality

But the gospel offers a way out. Jesus embodied the opposite of Sodom’s spirit. He ate with tax collectors and sinners. He welcomed children when others pushed them away. He washed his disciples’ feet—including the one who would betray him.

And the early church? They shared everything. “All who believed were together and had all things in common; they would sell their possessions and goods and distribute the proceeds to all, as any had need.” (Acts 2:44-45)

They lived as one community. When some had more, they gave so that everyone had enough. This wasn’t just economics—it was the gospel lived out together.

So What Do We Do?

First, look at your own Sodom moments. Where have you looked away from need? Where have you chosen comfort over compassion? Confess it not as guilt that shames you, but as truth that frees you. God’s grace meets us in our Sodom moments and transforms us into people who love our neighbors as ourselves.

Second, become a Lot. The only righteous person in Sodom was the one who practiced hospitality. Who can you welcome this week? Not just into your home, but into your life? The single parent who needs childcare? The immigrant who needs help with paperwork? The coworker who’s going through divorce and just needs someone to listen?

If you’re middle-class, you can still participate. You can host a dinner for college students who are away from home. You can advocate for affordable housing at a city council meeting. You can mentor a young person from a different neighborhood. Hospitality doesn’t require wealth—it requires willingness.

Third, support systemic change. We need policies that ensure everyone has housing, healthcare, and a living wage. We need tax structures that require more from those who have more. Jesus proclaimed good news to the poor and challenged the rich to share. We’re called to embody that same ethic. The Jubilee year was about redistribution of wealth to prevent generational poverty—this was God’s economic vision for Israel.

Finally, remember that God’s heart is for the vulnerable. Throughout Scripture, God identifies with the poor, the stranger, the marginalized. When we ignore them, we ignore God. When we care for them, we care for God.

Closing

There’s a moment in the Genesis story where Abraham bargains with God. “What if there are fifty righteous people in Sodom?” he asks. God agrees to spare the city. Abraham keeps lowering the number: forty-five, thirty, twenty, ten. God keeps agreeing to spare it.

Ten righteous people. That’s all it would have taken to save Sodom.

Friends, we have more than ten righteous people in this church. We have more than ten who care about justice, more than ten who have opened their homes and hearts, more than ten who give generously, more than ten who pray for the brokenhearted.

What if our presence—our hospitality, our generosity, our commitment to justice—could change the trajectory of our city? What if, instead of being like Sodom, we become the very reason God extends mercy?

The choice is ours. Hoard or share. Look away or see. Build walls or open doors.

Let’s be known for what we’re for—not who we’re against. Let’s be the anti-Sodom: a people of radical hospitality, radical generosity, radical love.

Amen.