and complain at that, and all the while we are tampering with our own professed sanctity, and are bowing before the shrine of religious pride. We think sometimes we are praising God when we are praising ourselves, and we pray at times that God may prosper us in doing good, and our greatest desire is to be honoured, not that his name should be glorified. This idol must be cast down; but it is of such a form and such a shape, that I suppose it will fare like Dagon. When the ark was brought into the house, it is said Dagon fell upon his face to the ground before the ark of the Lord, and his head and the palms of his hands were cut off, nevertheless the stump of Dagon remained. So it will be with us, I fear; the stump of Dagon will still remain, do what we may. Then today let each of us go home to our closet and begin to open the door of the chambers of our hearts, and walk through them all, and say “What have I to break, what have I to knock down, what have I to destroy”; and let us be very careful that we do destroy all that we can get near. Oh my hearers! how I wish we were more watchful of the effects produced in ourselves by preaching.
9. II. Let us now go a step further, and consider what it is to CUT DOWN THE GROVES. Groves are the places where those images have been set up. Note, there was nothing positively sinful in the grove. There could not be anything wrong in a cluster of trees. They were very beautiful — they were the work of God, but they had been used for an idolatrous purpose, and, therefore down they must come. Had some of the lax professors of this age been present, they would have said, “Break the god,” — that is good enough. Hammer away at him, dash him to pieces, but do not cut down the trees. You may use them for very proper purposes. Why, you may even go there to pray. There you may sit and refresh yourself, and beneath their grateful shade you may even worship the true God. “No,” say these reformers. “We will cut down the trees and all, because the images have been harboured under their shade.” Now, I am going to lift the axe to clear away some of the trees, where some of you at least have defiled yourselves with the false gods of this world’s idolatry. The first grove of trees, at which I must strike, is the theatre. I am told by some, that in the theatre there is much that might do good. There are plays, they inform me, that might be profitably heard, and I believe there are. I am told, again, that there is something so pleasant, so agreeable, so interesting in them that one might be instructed there: and that especially do the plays of Shakespeare contain such noble sentiments, that a man must feel his soul elevated and his heart expanded while witnessing their performance. Nevertheless, I will have this grove cut down, every bit of it. It is all very well for you to eulogize it; I will not argue with you; but false gods have been worshipped in these places, and are being worshipped still; so hew down every tree of them. Oh! you wish to have them spared, do you? Why, which tree in the whole grove is undefiled by a prostitute? Which theatre in the world is not the very den and nest of abominable iniquity, obscenity, and lust? Is it possible for any man to enter and come out of one of them without defilement? If it is possible, I suppose it is only so with men who are so bad that they cannot be made worse than they are, and therefore cannot be defiled. To the Christian mind, there is something hideous in the whole matter. He may believe that there were times when the theatre might have been profitable. He looks back to the days of the Greeks and Romans, and feels that then it might have been the instrument for civilization. But since those old times, he finds that the devil has become the god of the theatre, and the god that is diligently worshipped there is none other than Beelzebub. And therefore he says, “No; if I am a Christian, by the grace of God, I will never tread that floor again. Let others go there if they please. If they can find an interest under the shade of its trees, let them sit there; but I remember, in the days when I went there, I worshipped Bacchus, I worshipped iniquities of every shape. For me to go there, would be to put myself into temptations’ way. Therefore I will cut down the tree, I abhor it; I pass by on the other side, rather than come in contact even with its shadow.”
10. Now, men may make whatever apologies they please, but the thing is clear to me, that no man can be a true child of God and yet attend those haunts of vice. I do not care though I may be thought too severe. We had better use severity than allow souls to perish unwarned; God himself has annexed to the theatre the warning of your own destruction; for, staring you in the face, there is a hand with these words written — “To the pit”; and, true enough, it is the short cut to hell, and to the pit that is bottomless. But there are other groves that must come down too; There is the tavern, — like the grove, a very excellent thing in itself; the tavern is needed in some places for the refreshment of travellers, and the inn is a great advantage of civilization; but, nevertheless, the Christian man remembers, that in the tavern, false gods are worshipped; he remembers that the company of the bar room is not the fellowship of the saints, nor the general assembly and church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven. The Christian may have to go into the tavern, his business may sometimes take him there; but he will be like a man going through a shower of rain; he will carry an umbrella, while he is going through it, and he will get out of it as soon as he can. So will the Christian do, he will try and guard himself against evil while he is there, but not one moment longer will he stay than imperative necessity demands. The tavern, I have said, was originally an institute of civilization, and it is to this day a thing that cannot be given up, but, notwithstanding this, let no Christian, nor any pretender to Christianity, resort habitually to such places, nor let him sit down with the profane who generally assemble there. I believe there are Christian men who are often tempted into bad company by the benefit clubs and societies which are held in such places; if there are no benefit societies except those which are held in public houses, trust in God, and have nothing to do with societies at all. But there are others; and you are under no necessity whatever, to injure and contaminate your character by connecting yourself with those who meet in such places, and lead you into sin. “Well,” one says, “but I can do it and yet I am not harmed.” I dare say you can, I could not. If the coals did not burn me, yet they would blacken me; and, therefore, I would have nothing to do with them. There are some professors, however, who are like the old lady’s coachman. She advertised for a coachman, and three waited on her. To one she said, “How near could you drive to danger?” “Madam,” he replied, “I could drive, I dare say, within six inches, and yet be safe.” “Then you will not suit me at all,” she said. She asked the next, “How near can you drive me to danger?” “I would drive within a hair’s breadth.” “Then you will not suit me.” The third was asked, “How near can you drive to danger?” “Madam,” he said, “that is a thing I never tried; for I always drive as far off from danger as I can.” She said, “Then you will suit me.” That is my advice to every professor of religion.
11. I must make the very same remark with regard to the pastimes, the puerile pastimes and enjoyments of the rich, and of those who meet for purposes, not for sin, but of what they call recreation. Dancing — the ballroom — is there anything sinful there? I say, No! no more than there was in the trees that surrounded the image. But nevertheless, I will cut the trees down, because of their association with the images. I must have nothing to do with every amusement of such a kind in which I could not appear before my God while in the act. The Christian is to remember, that “in such an hour as he does not think the Son of Man comes.” Would he like his Master to come and find him in the society of the frivolous; engaged in the dizzy mazes of the dance? I do not think so. Perhaps one of the last places he would like to be found in would be there. Dancing! while hell is filling and sinners are perishing! What! are Christian men to be the saviours of the world, and yet waste their time so? Are there no poor to be relieved, no sick to be visited? Are there no dens of this great metropolis that need to be pried into by the servants of Christ? Are there no children to be taught, are there no aged men who need leading to Jesus; is there nothing to be done in this great vineyard — this great field of the Lord, so that a Christian could afford to waste his time so? Let the worldling do it if he likes; we have no right to talk to him about it. But amusements that are right for him are not right for us. Let him do as he pleases, but we are the servants of God. We protest that all we have and all we are is given up to Christ, and can that be consistent with the waste of time that is involved in the frivolous amusements in which so many are content to indulge? I do not condemn the thing itself, any more than I condemn the grove of trees. I condemn it for its associations with many things that are to be avoided by the Christian;
