The Ivory Palaces of the King

When an Old Testament poet would give us a glimpse of the beauty of the character of Jesus Christ and press upon us some conception as to what his incarnation meant to Him by way of sacrifice and to us in the fullness of blessing, he writes these words: “All Thy garments smell of Myrrh and Aloes and Cassia, out of the Ivory Palaces.” These words form only one touch of a master’s hand in the almost perfect delineation of a perfect 5 character; for the forty-fifth psalm is a picture of the Son of God, from the first verse almost to the last. It is so presented that it appeals to us in different ways. To the eye he is the most fair, to the ear most gracious, and his garments are so perfumed that even as he sweeps past us, by faith, there comes to us a better fragrance than any that has ever been born of the wings of the summer wind. It is the purpose of this little book, not only to present the ‘Ivory Palaces’ from which he came to be our Saviour but also to present the great Palace of a christian’s life; at the door of which he stands to-day beckoning us on, saying, “I am come, that they might have life and that they might have it more abundantly.” The very idea of a Palace is that of splendor. There have been magnificent Palaces in this world like the Tuileries of the French, the Windsor castle of the English and the Alhambra of the Spanish; but they are not for a moment, to be compared to the Palaces of Ivory from whence He came to redeem the world.

The Old Testament poet then, could only have had this thought in mind: that the Palaces of Ivory were overwhelmingly beautiful, almost beyond the power of words to describe, and yet, God so loved the world, and His Son was so submissive to His will, that the scene in Bethlethem was enacted and the death on the cross was made real.

The most touching thing about it all to me is this; that He came from such a place; to such a place; from the company of the angels to this world where His own received Him not: where He was despised of men, a pilgrim without a home, a wanderer without a friend; and yet He knew all about it before. He came, and herein is seen His marvelous love, for He was “the lamb slain from the foundation of the world.” Holman Hunt had the idea in his master piece, “The Shadow of the Cross,” in which he represents Jesus of Nazareth as standing at the carpenter’s bench where he is wearied with his work, and, as the day is dying, he lifts Himself from the constrained position in which He has been laboring, and seeking to relax His muscles, He stretches forth his arms, and stands thus for a moment while the sunlight is coming in at one of the windows just at the proper angle to cast at his back the shadow of a cross. The artist caught this idea in his picture. The shadow of the cross was on him at Bethlehem, in Egypt, at Nazareth, in Gethsemane and at last deepened at Calvary. And yet in the shadows ever deepening he moved on to become our Redeemer.

I am persuaded that if I could only make you feel all that he endured as he came out from the Ivory Palaces, to be your Saviour, you could not resist his power. Another thought about his coming may be suggestive. From other palaces of earth, there is a way that leads out to the greater highway. Along this the friends make their journeys to and from the mansion. Not infrequently they may be seen at quite a distance, then at a bend in the way, they are lost sight of, only to be seen a little nearer, until at last their journey is completed and with their friends they are united. As I think of Him coming out of the Ivory j Palaces, such a highway springs to’ my mind. It is the Old Testament: it is the grand avenue that leads up to the gospel dispensation. There are very many people who have turned away from the Old Testament, with its sacrifices and burnt offerings, but that man has not yet taken hold of the real sweetness of God’s book who has found it only in the New Testament scriptures. The old couplet is true:

“The new is in the old contained; The old is by the new explained.”

The Old Testament becomes not only plain but convincing when you make it point to Christ. One of my friends took home a dissecting map to his little children seeking thus to instruct them in geography. They worked diligently to put it together but failed. One girl lost her patience and rose up from the floor where they were at work saying, she would try no more. Her foot touched one of the pieces of the map and turned it over and she saw on the other side a part of a man’s hand. Turning over another piece she saw part of his face and then to her great surprise she found a part of the figure on every piece before her; then she said to her sister, “let us put the man together first.” this they did, and when the map was turned over behold every river, mountain and sea was in its proper place. This is the secret of Bible study. Put the man Christ Jesus together first. Isaac bound on the faggots thus becomes a representation of Christ, while Abraham points to God. Jacob’s Ladder rising up from Bethel is a type of Jesus Christ. One side of the ladder is His human nature, the other side of the ladder is His divine nature; all the incidents in His life are the rounds of the ladder, and as we stand and look up, we hear His voice saying: “By me, if any man enter in, he shall be saved.” The smitten rock in the Old Testament tells of Him who said on the great day of the feast, “if any man thirst let him come unto me and drink.” The Brazen serpent is a type of him who said; “and I if I be lifted up from the earth will draw all men unto me.” Down the long avenue he comes. Types and figures get plainer and plainer until Bethlehem’s gates swing open and shepherds are aroused with the angel’s song: “Unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour which is Christ the Lord,” and from His first infant step to the last one upon Calvary when, bearing His cross he fainted beneath its load, His whole life was a seeking after the lost. There is not only given to us however, a hint of the splendor from which He came; there is also a touch of a master’s hand which adds great tenderness to the fact of His coming. In the cathedral at Notre Dame there is an old chest which contains the robes worn on great occasions in the ages past. It is said that there is the robe worn by Pope Pius the VII., at the crowning of the first Napoleon, and the robe that was worn at the baptism of the Second Napoleon. A friend of mine said that as these garments were before him, there came a perfect rush of historical memories to his mind, and so it has seemed to me in order that the heart of the beholder might be made very tender and the picture of Jesus Christ Himself most impressive, the poet not only tells us of His coming incarnation but holds up before us the garments He wore.

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