Hostility towards strangers and aliens is the sin of Sodom and Gomorrah which resulted in their destruction in Genesis 19. This is visible when the men of Sodom surround Lot’s house, and demand that the visiting men (who we know to be angels) come out so they can violate them. This contrasts radically with Abraham and Sarah’s lavish hospitality in Genesis 18. Lot’s subsequent offer of his home as a sanctuary serves as a partial model of righteous aiding and abetting of aliens at a time when many North Americans and Europeans are scapegoating immigrants and refugees, calling for their deportation. The alien angels’ visit becomes a rescue mission to their hosts, as they urge Lot and his family to flee for their lives—before it’s too late. This story speaks prophetically to our situation in the USA now as we anticipate the Trump Administration coming to power January 20.
In the past few weeks, I’ve had numerous encounters with Mexican farmworkers who are terrified by threats of mass deportations in 2025. One man who has done back-breaking menial labor for years called over to me from across the street as I was leaving after our Sunday service. When he could see that I didn’t recognizing him as it was dark, he ran over.
“Roberto, what do you think is going to happen once Trump comes to power? Will they deport me right away?” he asked, with fear in his eyes. “I’m worried. Who will take care of my mother if they send me back to Mexico? She’s getting old and needs me.”
I told him that I’d let him know whatever I learned, and we exchanged phone numbers.
I visit a young indigenous farmworker couple from Oaxaca who are undocumented and have been in the USA since they were children. They’ve been working hard in the fields since their teen years, harvesting food for our tables. They share with me their fear that Trump will deport them, leaving their three US citizen children without parents.
“What will we do if they send us back without our children?” they ask.
An immigration attorney friend recommends that undocumented immigrants give Power-of-Attorney to a friend or family member who is a US citizen, so they can legally be granted custody and care for their children should they be deported.
As a parent considering the anguishing dilemma of our farmworker friends, I am sad and outraged. As the grandson of an immigrant grandfather from Sweden, who lives in close proximity to five Native reservations, I’m further pained by my “unjust” legal status. The Triqui-speaking Oaxacan farmworkers mentioned above are native to our North American continent (as are most farmworkers), yet they are only “immigrants” since European settlers took their land. This adds insult to injury when people label them “illegal aliens.” The prophet Ezekiel’s words to God’s people, whom he calls Sodom’s sister, ring true now.
“Behold, this was the guilt of your sister Sodom: she and her daughters had arrogance, abundant food and careless ease, but she did not help the poor and needy” (Ez 16:49).
In radical contrast, Abraham and Sarah are elevated as offering exemplary hospitality to foreigners, right before the story of Sodom and Gomorrah’s destruction.
In Genesis 18 Abraham runs from the door of his tent to meet three approaching foreigners, bowing himself to the earth before them. He addresses them using God’s singular proper name (YHWH) and offers them his best hospitality:
“My Lord (YHWH), if now I have found favor in your sight, please do not pass your servant by. Please let a little water be brought and wash your feet, and rest yourselves under the tree; and I will bring a piece of bread, that you may refresh yourselves; after that you may go on, since you have visited your servant” (Gn 18:3-5).
Abraham and Sarah spring to action as soon as their guests accept hospitality. They prepare a choice calf with curds and milk and set it before them. The visitors prophesy the miracle birth of Isaac. Then, before two of them continue down towards Sodom they share their concern with Abraham:
“The outcry of Sodom and Gomorrah is indeed great, and their sin is exceedingly grave. I will go down now, and see if they have done entirely according to its outcry, which has come to me; and if not, I will know” (Gn 18:20-21).
The migrant messengers do not give specifics about the reasons for the outcry. The Hebrew word zoaqah can mean shriek, cry out in need, and often implies an outcry against an oppressor.
“The one who shuts his ear to the cry (zoaqah) of the poor will also cry himself and not be answered,” states in proverb in Proverbs 21:13.
The men proactively head down to Sodom “to see.” They are met by Lot, Abraham’s nephew, who sits at the gate, seemingly vigilant. Lot exhibits watchfulness, but also exemplary hospitality like his uncle.
“He rose to meet them and bowed down with his face to the ground. And he said, “Now behold, my lords, please turn aside into your servant’s house, and spend the night, and wash your feet; then you may rise early and go on your way” (Gn 19:1-2).
As night approaches the people of Sodom’s hostility to aliens becomes visible. They surround Lot’s house, “both young and old, all the people from every quarter” (19:4).
Lot begins to advocate for his guests, going to the horrific extreme of even offering his virgin daughters to the perpetrators (not exemplary!)– but to no avail. The voters express the will of the people and berate Lot as an alien himself. The angels then step up their game and defend their hosts, shutting the door and striking the citizens with blindness. They urge Lot to prepare his family to flee Sodom, which they must have considered too far gone for democratic reform. Lot and his daughters are the only ones who make it out alive.
As I ponder this story these days before Christmas, I consider the wise men (foreigners), who are far more in touch with the time and place of the Savior’s birth than the citizens of Israel. I think of Bethlehem’s lack of hospitality to Jesus at this birth, and of Egypt– which provided asylum to Mary, Joseph and young Jesus. I find myself hoping I’m hospitable, closer to Abraham than to Lot on a continuum.
The angels though, are my heroes. They represent the Kingdom of Heaven, and critique earthly realities from that perspective. They inspire me to a deeper, more holistic advocacy. I am challenged that they combine sensitive attunement to the outcries of the oppressed, with a willingness to serve as vulnerable messengers in a hostile environment, and direct, courageous and faith-filled action to protect and liberate. I am far less comfortable with their role as faithful heralds who announce God’s judgment of the oppressors.
Yet as I keep encountering undocumented individuals and families, I find my heart becoming more tenderized, and upset at the current state of our nation. Many insist that immigrants driven to migrate by poverty go through the normal application process to enter legally, without understanding that the poor are disqualified from the start from obtaining an entry visa due to their poverty! I wonder what outcries God is hearing from our land now, and what response is required.
An indigenous woman in her late twenties from Guerrero, Mexico came to our Sunday service for the first time six weeks ago. She used Google Translate to find the words to show someone entering our building for worship. “Can you show me the pastor?”
I met with her in our sanctuary and read over a letter she showed me from the US Immigration Service telling her that she was being deported. Her two small children played with toys before us as we talked. The next evening after she finished work in the fields, we met up with an immigration attorney friend who attends Tierra Nueva to see if there was any way to help her. He determined that there was likely no hope that her asylum claim would be granted. She shared how a third child is due to be born in February. She was surprisingly calm, seemingly resigned to whatever might happen. I was struck by her humility, visible in her desire for prayer, full of faith in Jesus, despite her minimal exposure to any kind of church.
Last Sunday, I visited her and her husband to bring them a microwave someone had donated. Their living room was completely bare of furniture. Five young indigenous men sat against the wall in a cold home due to the furnace breaking down– which the landlord wasn’t repairing. The men shared how they’d worked in the potato harvest until it ended in November and would be out of work until the season began again in March. “That is if we’re not caught and deported,” one of them shared. I think of a final Scripture, which is highly relevant now as we resist the status quo in these immigrant-bashing times.
“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it” (Hebrews 13:2).