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Sin is the enemy of our soul. But sin also infuses the broad texture of our whole lives. There is a systemic, endemic, structural reality to sin. It's found in capitalism and socialism, the county office and the country club, the school board and the church board, your neighbourhood and local rotary. The sin that is present in these places is not simply the sum of its parts - the result of simple arithmetic that says one sinner plus one sinner plus one sinner equals three sinners. There is an exponential factor at play. Sin inhabits the ground on which we gather. Sin is the leaven in our life together, working its way into everything. We are not just better together; we are also worse.

And the gospel is remedy for all.

I missed this my first decade of preaching. I often preached - and still do - about personal sin and the need to repent and receive God's cleansing. But increasingly I lean to texts such as Matthew 5:13?14 ("you are the salt of the earth ? the light of the world") and Romans 8:19?21 ("the whole creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed") and all of Romans 12 (we are "transformed by the renewal of our minds," learning to "test and approve God's good, perfect, and pleasing will," so that we will "not be overcome by evil, but instead overcome evil with good").

In short, I'm learning the social obligations of the gospel. A redeemed people, living Christ-like lives in a broken world, ought to reclaim that broken world here and now. The atonement of Christ and the indwelling of the Spirit will always be the sole remedy for personal sin. But the church of Christ, empowered by the Spirit, will always be part of the remedy for the world's sin. God entrusts you and me - God's new creations - with the ministry of reconciliation. It's you and me through whom he makes his appeal (2 Corinthians 5:18?20).

This alone has almost flipped our church inside out. We are seeking ways to be God's redemptive presence in the world. We have hundreds of people involved in "non-religious" initiatives in our community. For example, we help the First Nations people (indigenous peoples in Canada) host the North American Indigenous Games in our town. We provide lunches, free of charge, for students at one of our inner-city schools. We throw banquets for local teachers, thanking them for their work. I sit on a Social Planning Committee that seeks community solutions to the problems of homelessness and transportation for the elderly. I chair another committee that coordinates resources for families of young children.

Good news shouldn't require translation. The oppressed, the imprisoned, the impoverished - the last, the least, the loneliest - should be able to instinctively recognize good news when they see or hear it. For the First Nations people in Canada, the gospel has too often meant the destruction of their families, their culture, their prosperity, and their identity. It's too often meant a priest with a fondness for young boys or a residential school teacher with a taste for blood. They shouldn't have to wonder whether good news really means bad news for them.

But this also: the oppressor, the tyrant, the exploiter - the first, the worst, the greediest - should be able to instinctively recognize that the good news is bad news for them. They shouldn't wonder if there's a way to use the message of Jesus to their own advantage. "Here are the men who turned the whole world on its head," the men of Thessalonica said, dismayed at bandy-legged Paul and his few companions. "Now they're coming here as well!" they said in fear (Acts 17:6).

"The church is coming!" That should strike terror in the hearts of tyrants and ignite joy in the hearts of the broken. That it typically does not is no failure of the gospel; it's just our failure to live it out.

The gospel I have begun to preach asks the Church to be, not just to speak, good news to the least of these and bad news to the worst of these.