WE AND THE WISENT

There is an instinctive impulse to find help on higher ground. Never do I fail to be amazed at the impulses that God has programmed into animals. Impulses that assure their survival. Let me tell you about the Wisent (pronounced, vee-zent), the European bison that’s a smaller cousin to the American Bison of our Midwest. These Wisents that roam the Caucasus Mountain range between the Black and Caspian Seas, between Europe and Asia, have a remarkable impulse. It only kicks in when things get really bad. At the height of winter in the inner valleys among the mountains where the Wisent graze, the constant accumulating snow eventually blankets the essential grasses to the point that no amount of hoof-pawing or head-sweeping can uncover them. The bison finally give up trying to dig down to their food. They just mill around or stand there. Starving. Becoming more and more emaciated. With death approaching. Then, like at the snap of invisible fingers, the whole herd is activated by the unseen impulse. They begin to move out of the valleys in a long sojourn up to mountain meadows at higher altitudes. This seems intuitively like a bad move. The snow is deeper, the wind fiercer, and the air more frigid up there. Yet, with their last remaining strength, they make what appears to be the suicidal, lemming-like trek. They arrive at their destination. They are in worse condition than they were before the climb. Now they are completely exhausted and further malnourished. They have no more reserves. They stand, heads down, as if they are conceding they’ve come to a dead end where they will end dead. Closer observing, however, brings the realization that the Wisents ARE waiting for something—and it’s not death. They do not have to wait long. Timing is everything. If they had arrived too early or too late, they would die on the mountain plateau or on the way there. But they are right on time. Shortly, a fierce, steady, hurricane-force wind from the south begins to blow. It is so powerful that in minutes it has blown the deep powdered snow off of the plateau leaving the grass below exposed. However, it is still layered with ice. But with the wind comes a low front that clears the clouds from the sky. Then, even at that height and at that temperature, the bright sun melts the ice from the steppe’s hay. The Wisents then begin to graze voraciously, mowing up the grass. They do not have long. Winter will soon return. They gorge themselves on life-saving nutrient-filled grass. Soon, the clouds and snow return reburying the field. When they do, the Wisent will have eaten enough to make the journey back to the lower pastures where they can now survive long enough for those meadows seasonally to clear as well. The impulse that drives them truly is amazing. It is more accurate than a meteorologist’s report. The developing storm is in the future and far distant from them, but the impulse activates them while the wind and front are yet miles away. They get the impulse in advance. If they didn’t, they would never make it from the lower valleys to the higher one traversing the ridges through the wind. They arrive at the exact time before the wind hits and at the exact spot where the grass will be uncovered. They are there to begin immediately to eat when the wind dies down and the grass is uncovered. And before it is reburied. The impulse indubitably saves their lives. It’s not just the Wisent to whom God’s given this impulse. It is we humans. A seeking God has put a seek in us. An impulse. And like the Wisent’s, ours generally kicks in when things get bad. When we are starved in the low fields of this world. When we are empty. When we are drained. When our environment is about to finish us off. When we are about to perish. An impulse kicks in. Making us restless where we are. Causing us to look to higher heights, upward, skyward, heavenward. We, like the Wisent, find our legs, our, rather, our hearts, moving. Climbing. Leaving behind the place of death. Reaching, calling, upward. The psalmist felt that impulse: “I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help. My help cometh from the LORD, which made heaven and earth (Psa 121:1-2). The help came from the One even higher than the hills. And so does the impulse to look up, climb up. It came from Him too. To follow the impulse may be difficult. We may feel too weak to climb. We may feel the opposition of the environment. We may even at the moment of our arrival at that place of prayer feel it a wasted futile endeavor. It appears we are no better off than before. Perhaps, worst off. We have left the familiar for an even more hostile place. Then, up on the heights, the wind begins to blow, the sun begins to shine, and before us is what our soul needs. We partake. We feel the strength. The life. The newness. It has been worth the upward climb. We have been saved. Rescued. God gave the impulse to the Wisent. And to us. An impulse, activated, not by barometric pressures, but by His Spirit. Yes, unlike the Wisent, we can resist and die where we stand. Or we can turn our hearts upward and seek, reach out to, and call on Him. And enter heavenly places in Christ Jesus. Thank God for that impulse. Unbeliever, unconverted, or, believer, in trouble. Either one. Do you feel the compulsion to a higher place where your soul will be helped? This impulse, by the mercy of God, both we and the Wisent have in common. An impulse that saves our lives. How should you and I respond? “When thou saidst, Seek ye my face; my heart said unto thee, Thy face, LORD, will I seek.” (Psa 27:8). --Pastor Clifford Hurst