Fear seems to be a constant companion these days. Fear makes good headlines – violence and heartache and uncertainty are all fodder for the 24 hour news cycle, and continual exposure to those stories feed our fear. We try to escape. We stop watching the news – we hide behind our work or our hobbies. We claim an isolation that is impossible to maintain. But fear will not be denied.

The global political situation is terrifying. We are literally burning through planetary resources. People seeking refuge in this country have brought with them cultural habits that can be hard to understand – and it is easy to be afraid of things you don’t understand. Our vaunted health care system is in crisis – and the Olympics – that quadrennial festival of good natured competition – a celebration of all that is good and right and fun in the world – is turning into a storm of controversy and distrust. It feels like there is no where to hide from things that would make us fearful.

‘That’s okay,’ you say. ‘We have our faith.’ And you’re right , of course. But even here we are not immune to the effects of fear. We worry about OUR future – about the role for the church in a changing society – and we aren’t getting any younger…

Fear is a relentless hunter, waiting patiently in the midst of our favourite institutions. Shadowing our treasured memories. Fear is everywhere.

But so is Jesus.

This morning’s gospel lesson is full of disconcerting details. Jesus sends his friends off alone – there has been little time alone for any of them, but Jesus needs to isolate, and pray – so off in the boat go the twelve.

The text tells us that Jesus saw them struggling, and eventually (not immediately, one of Mark’s favourite words) Jesus makes his way out to the centre of the lake. Putting aside the miracle of Jesus walking across the surface of the lake, the text also mentions that he planned to pass them by! There is a lot going on here, and all of it adds up to an overdose of fear.

Fear for their situation – a small boat on a big lake against a contrary wind. And then, what can only be a ghost – gliding over the water towards them.

Their otherwise ordinary fear (of being swamped) gives way to real terror at the sight of Jesus suddenly next to them. So Jesus joins them in the boat…and the wind and the waves are calmed…and their fear is replaced by hard-hearted astonishment.

Jesus doesn’t have much to say. “Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid.” None of that seems to have an effect. They were utterly astounded. And then, the strangest bit – the editorial comment: ‘The did not understand about the loaves, but their hearts were hardened.’

How can these two events be related? How can that miracle of abundance be linked to the fear that inhabits these biblical boat people?

When I was a kid, I was what you might have called precocious. I loved to read – I loved to listen in – I liked the attention I got when interacting with adults. And as all kids do, I absorbed things that I heard, even though I didn’t fully understand them. And one of the things that I worked out was that the world was a dangerous place. The cold war was raging – the civil rights movement was  in full bloom – I was only 5 years old when Martin Luther King, and then Robert Kennedy, were assassinated.  I was hearing news and absorbing the fear of the adults around me. My view of events was particularly narrow, and by the time I was ten, I was diagnosed with ulcers. Fear had worried me into a right state.

I got better. And I eventually got better at making my way through reams of terrible news to find the glimmers of hope – the ray of sunshine that everyone needs to thrive and survive. And I wish I could tell you that it was Jesus who saved me from my fear, but it wasn’t – not then. Not yet.

What I didn’t know, as a ten-year-old was that good and bad coexist. That joy can be found in the midst of sorrow. That hope is not bound by the fences that fear builds. Jesus is teaching me that even now.

Just as, in an isolated place, food was found to feed thousands – abundance out of an imagined scarcity – in the midst of our constant fear, Jesus appears. In the most improbable way – Casually and almost carelessly Jesus arrives and invites us to set fear aside. WE are hard-hearted – no mistake. The world has toughened us up. But Jesus, who has never let us out of his sight, shows up and offers us a new perspective.

The problem with fear is that it narrows our vision. A little challenge quickly becomes an all-encompassing problem when fear is at work. The horizon is obliterated when the wind is whipping the waves over the edge of the boat. The shore is closer than you think, but you can’t see past your fear. It’s a problem of perspective.

Jesus changes that. Jesus sees both the problem AND the solution. The bread was there, in the deserted place, and Jesus helped them find it. The calm is there, in the midst of the storm, and Jesus brought it to them. The things that make us afraid aren’t going away – but neither is Jesus. Hard hearts create narrow vision. We are easily overwhelmed by a lack of perspective. But food for a multitude? Calm in a storm? Jesus walking on water?

All these things invite us to open our eyes and look around. Jesus’ presence invites them (and us) to see the world anew.

Hard hearts are tough to change. Mark’s gospel would suggest that even this episode did not do the trick. We know what that’s like. World events hem us in. The news from every corner is dismal – our outlook is bleak. Sinister forces are at work, and there seems to be no stopping them. But that same divine presence that fed the crowds and calmed the wind would have us see the bigger picture. The gospel is the story of God’s desire to conquer our biggest, most primal fear. We might be able to explain away an abundance of bread or ignore a storm that suddenly stops. But a crucifixion that ends in resurrection, while hard to explain, is harder to ignore. Jesus stands boldly at the empty tomb to remind us that while there are terrors all around – that there may be good reason to fear, but in Jesus, God has given us a better reason to hope.