At the heart of the Antinomian crisis in the seventeenth century was the debate over the terms, and relationship between, the law and the gospel. Affirming a law-gospel contrast does not make one orthodox any more than affirming grace in salvation makes one Reformed. Arminians, Roman Catholics, and Reformed theologians all insist that we are saved by grace. It is what you do with those categories and how you relate them to each other, as well as how you define each category, that makes you Reformed or something else. In the seventeenth century the Antinomians had a powerful weapon in their arsenal, which has great rhetorical force even in today’s climate, namely, the idea of positioning oneself as a defender of “free grace.” The debate was not so much about the necessity of grace for holiness, but the fact that certain orthodox truths were either softened or outright denied. Moreover, the indicative-imperative model was generally agreed upon, but what was not so obvious to some was the force or necessity of the imperatives. So, for example, are good works the way of life or also the way to life? Tobias Crisp affirmed the former but denied the latter whereas the Westminster divines and Reformed orthodoxy in general held to the view that good works were both the way of life and the way to life (see WLC 32). In other words, good works are necessary for salvation, but not for justification.

In England there were theologians who constantly sounded the drum of “grace, grace, grace”, but they were nonetheless viewed as either suspicious or downright in serious error according to a number of Reformed theologians. In fact, a close reading of the Westminster documents shows that the Antinomian threat was viewed with as much, if not more, seriousness by the divines than Arminianism and Roman Catholicism. Unsurprisingly, Antinomian theologians accused their critics of Arminian, neonomian, or popish tendencies (i.e., legalism).

Even today similar rhetoric abounds; not only the strong language used to denounce others, but the types of theologies that were advanced during the seventeenth century. One present-day example that highlights the issue well is Tullian Tchividjian’s book, Jesus + Nothing = Everything, which is a sort of spiritual biography that relates a massive shift in his thinking that took place as his church merged with Coral Ridge Presbyterian Church in Florida in 2009. The change in his thinking has led him to formulate a theology that in my view has affinities with Lutheranism and the seventeenth-century English Antinomians.

Grace + Anything = Legalism

In the first place, the rhetoric of the book warrants discussion. In Tullian’s view, “a lot of preaching these days has been unwittingly, unconsciously seduced by moralism” (49). He adds that “So many contemporary sermons strengthen this slavery to self. ‘Do more, try harder’ is the constant refrain.” In fact, “Many sermons today provide nothing more than a ‘to do’ list” … “It’s all law (what we must do) and no gospel (what Jesus has done)” (49). These are, of course, strong accusations and perhaps they are true, but they seem to me to be comments that are easily made, but not quite so easily proved. As a minister, I spend the vast majority of my Sundays in my own pulpit and would be unable to make such a comment even about the city of Vancouver, much less the North American context. This brings me to a further concern about the general tone of the book, namely, that if ministers are not preaching the type of theology prescribed in this book they are inevitably legalistic to some degree. Indeed, the threat of legalism surfaces again and again throughout the book, so much so that it is the one primary threat to true gospel-centered Christianity: “I believe it’s more theologically accurate to say that there is one primary enemy of the gospel – legalism – but it comes in two forms” (50). Of course, one could easily respond and say that “Antinomianism” is the only threat to the gospel because all sin – whether refusing to believe the gospel or murdering someone – is against God’s law. Why are preachers legalistic? Because “moralistic preaching is stimulated by a fear of the scandalous freedom that gospel grace promotes and promises” (50, emphasis mine). Tullian argues that preachers fear that focusing on grace will cause people to abuse it, so instead they feel the need to “throw some law in there, to help make sure Christian people walk the straight and narrow” (50, emphasis mine). So throwing in “some law” is a bad thing in preaching? What are we to make of the letters to the seven churches in Revelation or the Sermon on the Mount?

+ > /

In reacting to perceived deficiencies in present-day preaching and theologizing, Tullian has placed himself in a position where it appears to be “either/or” instead of “both/and”. In his online interview with Ed Stetzer (part 2) he makes the argument, advanced by the Lutheran theologian, Gerhard O. Forde, “that sanctification is simply getting used to your justification–it’s receiving Christ’s words ‘It is finished’ into our rebellious regions of unbelief.” This theme recurs throughout the book. Thus “sanctification is the daily hard work of going back to the reality of our justification” (95). This seems to impact his exegesis of Philippians 2:12-13. Verse 12 tells us that “We’ve got work to do – but what exactly is it? Get better? Try harder? Pray more? Get more involved in church? Read the Bible longer? What precisely is Paul exhorting us to do?” According to Tullian, “God works his work in you, which is the work already accomplished by Christ. Our hard work, therefore, means coming to a greater understanding of his work” (96). I fail to see how Philippians 2:12-13 can be interpreted in that light, particularly since Paul exhorts believers to work out their salvation with “fear and trembling”. In Tullian’s manner of speaking, quietism (or, interior passivity) seems to be the chief characteristic of the Christian life whereby believers engage in mental appropriation of Christ’s finished work. But Reformed theology has never painted the Christian life in quite that way. Sanctification is not “simply” getting used to our justification. It certainly involves that, but the Scriptures are clear that there are other motives for holiness. Gratitude is not the only motivator; rather, for important ontological reasons, we must obey because of who we are and who God is (e.g., 2 Cor. 7:1; 1 Peter 1:15, 17; 1 Jn. 3:3). Here is where Reformed theology has stressed the “both/and” to the Christian life when it comes to sanctification. John Owen’s exposition of Romans 8:13, for example, paints a very different picture of the sanctified life than the one found in Jesus + Nothing = Everything. Other examples of the “either/or” fallacy come up when he argues that “It is always the gospel of God’s free grace that should motivate our right doing; otherwise we are nothing better than Pharisees” (153). But this is wrong. The Antinomians argued that a man is under law, and not under grace, when he obeys the law as law, and obeys in light of not only its promises but also its threats. But the divines disagreed with this view (see WCF 19.6).

Justification + Nothing = Gospel?

In the book Tullian makes the point frequently that he came to understand that the gospel is not just for unbelievers but also for believers. If we make the gospel essentially synonymous with justification then I can see why this was such a breakthrough for Tullian. But this leads to a great deal of confusion, particularly since he seems to understand “Christ for us” as essentially synonymous with justification. For example, in referring to the “glorious exchange” (2 Cor. 5:21), he writes: “That’s the gospel” (84-85). And later he posits that “The gospel, in fact, transforms us precisely because it’s not itself a message about our internal transformation but about Christ’s external substitution” (94). What concerns me in the debate over the relationship between justification and sanctification is not so much the logical or temporal priority given to justification, but the view, espoused by Tullian, whereby sanctification is essentially swallowed up by justification because, to repeat, “sanctification is simply the art of getting used to justification” (see also p. 172). In my view, the gospel is not synonymous with justification. Jesus died for our sins according to the Scriptures, which includes the guilt (Rom. 5; justification) and power (Rom. 6; sanctification) of sin. It seems that many associate “for our sins” exclusively with the guilt of our sin; but the Scriptures are clear that “for our sins” cannot be reduced to simply the guilt of our sin; the good news is that not only the guilt, but the enslaving power of my sin has been dealt with by Christ and the Spirit. Therefore, the gospel is not simply Christ for us, but also Christ in us. Redemption (the gospel) must have application or it is not redemption. While a major part of our sanctification includes looking to Christ for us, an equally important aspect of our sanctification involves Christ in us, the hope of glory (Col. 1:27). Tullian exhorts us to look outside of ourselves to Christ’s finished work, but we also need to know that Christ dwells in our hearts by faith (Eph. 3:16-17), which necessarily means that our identity shapes us in our sanctification. Indeed, contrary to Tullian’s view that sanctification feeds off justification and not vice versa, there are theologically and pastorally sensitive ways to explain how our assurance of justification may feed on sanctification. His view of sanctification – looking to justification – won’t allow for that, however.

Law ≠ Gospel & Gospel = Law

The section on the law and the gospel in the book evinces a problem with certain versions of the law-gospel antithesis, especially when this antithesis is read into the Christian life and not just simply justification. Tullian notes that the law is good, but we are not. Therefore, “Paul, as a believer in Christ, has allowed the law to continue driving him to the gospel. And that’s what we’re to do as well” (188). In my view, Paul sometimes speaks negatively of the Torah; he shows its impotence apart from the Spirit to give the life it promises. Some versions of the law-gospel antithesis seem make a mess of Paul’s own antitheses. For example, in Romans 7 the law is placed on the “Spirit” (not the “flesh”) side of the Spirit-flesh antithesis. Sin leads to condemnation because the law exposes us as sinners. But in chapter 8 the law becomes a liberating, not condemning, power because of the Spirit. I would also note that Paul often does not place “law” on the expected side of the antithesis. It is interesting that in 1 Corinthians 7:19 Paul does not say, “For neither circumcision counts for anything nor uncircumcision, but believing the gospel.” Rather, what counts, in that particular context, is “keeping God’s commandments”. The law in the New Covenant becomes a quickening power that, by the Spirit, sets us free from sin and death (Rom. 8:1-4). The Puritan, Anthony Burgess, noted that the law acts as means of grace, not simply to drive us to Christ for justification, but to make us like Christ in sanctification. Therefore, the antithesis between the law and the gospel is not an end in itself; it only entered because of sin. Instead, the gospel has in view removing the absolute law-gospel antithesis in the life of the believer because in Christ the law is my friend because God is my friend (Ps. 119). In essence, my concern has to do with the fact that a number of biblical passages are read in a manner where people automatically assume that the text is driving us to Christ for justification when in fact the text is saying nothing of the sort (e.g., Matt. 5:20, “unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees”).

Historically speaking, the difference between the law and the gospel is not a distinction between demanding and forbidding, which was an Antinomian position, but rather a difference between the kinds of acts that are demanded. The law demands perfect works whereas the gospel demands faith, repentance and sincere – albeit imperfect – obedience. Faith is an antecedent condition whereas gospel obedience is a consequent condition. Samuel Rutherford, likewise, argued against the Antinomians, who posited that the gospel only persuades, by insisting that the gospel persuades and commands, and with a stronger force than the law does! In the law and the gospel there is not an oppositio contradictionis (the Antinomian view) but an oppositio contrareitatis. In fact, as Reformed divines noted, in sanctification the law and the gospel “sweetly comply” (WCF 19.7).

Love + Love = Love

I recognize that the book is not a formal theological treatise, but when dealing with such sensitive topics it seems to me that one needs to be careful with the rhetoric that is used, especially when certain Reformed truths are denied. One area where I think a good theological distinction would have helped, if not changed his view, is Tullian’s belief that “We seem to inherently assume that our performance is what will finally determine whether our relationship with God is good or bad: so much good behavior from us generates so much affection from God; or so much bad behavior from us generates so much anger from God” (98). The distinction between amor benevolentiæ and amor complacentiæ, used by almost all of the Reformed orthodox, explains how God loves us unconditionally in Christ, apart from works, and conditionally in Christ, in light of our obedience or lack thereof (see Jn. 14:21). In other words, God loves us, despite our unworthiness with the love of benevolence; but he also loves us because of our close communion and obedience with him with the love of complacency. He delights in certain graces (e.g., acts of faith). Tullian speaks of God’s love of benevolence to his creatures as if that were the only love and so our growth in grace has no bearing on God’s love for us. The love of benevolence is certainly primary or antecedent to the love of complacency (and inviolable), but our obedience or disobedience will result in a different type of complacent love between God and the saint. The English Antinomian, John Saltmarsh, denied this distinction and affirmed, in similar manner to Tullian, that God’s love for us does not change in relation to our good behavior.

Faith = Justification + Obedience

It is not that there are no good points made in the book. I acknowledge that. But I’ve read enough from John Saltmarsh and Tobias Crisp, as well as authors from Arminian and Catholic traditions, to know that even those who depart from Reformed orthodoxy can and often do say helpful things. Yet in Jesus + Nothing … there are too many statements that are either inaccurate or confusing. And the book is also highly repetitive (note, for example, the same quote from Berkouwer on pp. 173, 190). The fact is, books on this topic have been written before, but without the aforementioned shortcomings. Moreover, I can’t help but get the feeling that a number of Reformed ministers, both in the past and in the present, would be viewed as legalistic in their preaching if judged by the theology of this book. But this book does not set forth classical Reformed theology. We do have work to do. And that work involves trusting in Christ’s finished work. But we also need to “Pray more, Get more involved in church, [and] Read the Bible longer.” These are necessary components to our sanctification. Nonetheless, God’s graciousness in his Son and by the Spirit assures us that he gives what he commands.

In the end, the issue is not so much about the necessity of preaching salvation by grace. Rather, sometimes error comes in the form not by what people do say, but by what they fail to say. And, as J I Packer has so eloquently reminded us, “A half-truth masquerading as the whole truth becomes a complete untruth.”

-          Mark Jones

Who was the greatest believer who ever lived? It was, according to Goodwin, Jesus Christ. This book will be a real benefit to your mind and soul, unlike so many printed works today that seem to aim solely at the mind!

For Goodwin, the title of ‘the Word’ (ho logos) is not a reference to Christ being the thought or counsel of the Father’s mind since this ‘inclines too much unto the Notion of Plato, and other Heathen Philosophers’ (Of the Knowledge, 60). Goodwin is not unaware that the logos title had been used before John’s time by various Greek philosophers. However, in Goodwin’s mind, John refers to Christ as ‘the Word’ (logos) not because of Greek influences but because of the evidence in the Old Testament itself.

As a result, both Philo and Plato, by using the terminology of ‘ho logos’, are guilty of stealing ‘their knowledge from the Jews, and vend[ing] it as their own’ (Ibid, 62). Goodwin shows that the title, ‘the Word’, was used by the Jews, as a reference to the Messiah, in the Aramaic Targums, what Goodwin called the ‘Caldee Paraphrasts’ (Ibid). So, for example, Goodwin quotes the Isaiah Targum (Isa. 45:17) which makes several references to the divine Word (Memra). Hence, ‘Israel is saved by the Memra of the LORD with an everlasting salvation’. The KJV, based on the Masoretic Text (MT) in the OT, reads: ‘But Israel shall be saved in the LORD with an everlasting salvation’ (Isa. 45:17). Moreover, the MT text of Hosea 1:7 (… and will save them by the LORD their God …) is transliterated by the Aramaic Targum as ‘I will redeem them by the Word of the Lord their God.’

Referring to Christ as ‘the Word’, then, is Christologically loaded in terms of his divinity because of how the Aramaic Targums make use of the title, ‘the Word’ (Owen, 21:354). Not only, then, does the immediate context of John 1 show that Christ is the divine Word who existed in eternity, but the very fact that John calls Christ ‘the Word’ is evidence in itself for the deity of Christ because of how the Jews would have understood such terminology.

Here is where this short letter gets interesting. The Commissioners described their desire for their University and the training of men for the ministry in these words:

Wherein we desire that the educating of youth in the knowledge of God and the principles of piety may be in the first place promoted, experience having taught that where learning is attained before the work of grace upon the heart, it serves only to make a sharper opposition against the power of godliness (The Correspondence of John Owen, ed. Peter Toon, 50–51).

The two constituent parts that these Commissioners desired for a thoroughly Reformed and Puritan education were theology and piety. That sounded so odd to me as I read this letter, since I have been conditioned by our current theological training system in which what is emphasized is the school you go to (Westminster CA v. Westminster PA, RTS–Jackson v. Covenant, etc.), the degree you earn, the GPA you receive, your GRE score if you desire to go to grad school in a University, and the amount of reading you have done. Our current system is utterly focused on knowledge—systematics, biblical theology, exegesis, history, etc.

The Commissioners of the University of Dublin were on to something, though. Their experience taught them the necessity of piety in training students. What is interesting is how they qualify what they meant by piety: “where learning is attained before the work of grace upon the heart, it serves only to make a sharper opposition against the power of godliness.” Seminary students need to be born again, they need to be converted, and they need to have experienced the power of grace in their souls. Is it any different today?

Goodwin and Owen both wrote works on justification (and on the Holy Spirit).  There are, of course, similarities, but there are also differences.  Goodwin had a special concern with assurance and his work is more pastoral than Owen’s.  Owen’s work is technically superb, but I would rate Goodwin’s work above Owen’s on account of better pastoral emphases.

In his work on justification, Goodwin had a burden to maintain the graciousness of the covenant of grace. Chief among his concerns was that graces and grace had been confused, not only by the Arminians, Socinians, and Catholics, but by some of his own (Calvinistic) brethren who were heavily emphasizing the conditional character of the covenant of grace. For example, Goodwin writes:

“When Paul disputes, as we do against the papists, that no man is justified by works; what! doth he mean external works only? No; but he excludes from our justification our whole righteousness, both root and branch, the inward as the root, and the outward as the branches, because under works of the law is comprehended a complete conformity to the law, and to what the law requires, and so he means hereby inward as well as outward holiness …. And thus when the law forbids any evil work, it forbids original sin as well as actual, for the law binds the whole man” (8:292).

Richard Sibbes, who was a significant influence on Goodwin, was careful to sharply distinguish between justification and sanctification. Indeed, confusing justification with either sanctification or regeneration was tantamount to deserting the faith.

“But some others there are amongst us, that regard not Christ and his satisfaction alone, but join faith and works together in justification; they will have other priests, and other intercessors than Christ. Alas! beloved, how are these men fallen from Christ to another gospel, as if Christ were not an all-sufficient Saviour, and able to deliver to the uttermost! What is the gospel but salvation and redemption by Christ alone?” (Works, 1:388)

Ussher makes a similar point when he speaks of sola fide: [justification is] not considered as a virtue inherent in us, working by love; but only as an instrument or hand of the soul stretched forth to lay hold on the Lord our righteousness” (Ussher, 193).

These sentiments are, of course, standard Westminster orthodoxy where justifying faith is “not because of those other graces which doth always accompany it, or of good works that are the fruits of it, nor as if the grace of faith, or any act thereof, were imputed to him for his justification; but only as it is an instrument by which he receiveth and applieth Christ and his righteousness” (WLC, 73).

For Goodwin, then, the unconditional nature of the covenant of grace is essential to the doctrine of justification and assurance. Goodwin concludes: “He [who comes to faith] cannot rest on promises conditional, for he sees no qualifications of faith or any grace in himself” (8:245). Goodwin is so concerned to not make faith a work, as the Arminians do, that he is far more comfortable speaking of the covenant of grace as unconditional.

This comes out in Goodwin’s doctrine of assurance that Mike Horton has written on.  Goodwin came to the opinion that the subjective element (internal graces) were becoming unhelpful to his people and so, in trying to evade an overly-subjective view of assurance, he looked to the unconditional nature of the covenant of grace while, at the same time, holding to a “sealing-of-the-Spirit” view where believers, some time later in their lives, receive full assurance of their faith through the Spirit’s work.  This may raise some eyebrows, but what Goodwin was trying to do was emphasize the unilateral, unconditional aspect of the covenant of grace. Horton doesn’t think Goodwin succeeded – nor do I – but it’s an interesting point of historical reference nevertheless.

Francis Roberts wrote the longest work on covenant theology in the seventeenth century and his thoughts on grace in the covenant of works are interesting.  He argues that God’s entering into the covenant of works with Adam was an “act of divine grace and favour, not of debt” (God’s Covenants, 23).

God could have dealt only in terms of “command”, requiring duty from Adam without a reward.  However, because he condescended to Adam and entered into a covenant with him, it was “meer grace” (Ibid).  Roberts insists that Adam could not merit any reward.  In fact, even if Adam had rendered perfect obedience he would still have “been an unprofitable servant, having done nothing but what was duty” (Ibid).  On account of Creation, Adam owed God obedience.  On account of God instituting a covenant at creation, Adam had to be “double dutiful” (Ibid).  In fact, Roberts suggests that if God’s dealings with Adam in the covenant of works was an “Act of Divine Grace”, then God’s covenant of grace was an act of “superabounding and transcendent grace” (Ibid).

What is interesting is that Thomas Goodwin takes a rather different approach than Roberts, which is yet more evidence of the diversity among theologians in the Reformed tradition.  Sure, the covenant of works became firmly entrenched in our confessional tradition, but the details of the covenant of works have never been fully agreed upon.

Goodwin calls the estate into which man was born the estate of pure nature by “creation law”.  He recognizes that “our divines” rightly call it the Foedus Naturae, the Covenant of Nature (Goodwin also uses the term “covenant of works”).  This covenant is “founded upon an equitable intercourse set up between God the Creator, and his intelligent unfallen creatures, by virtue of the Law.”  We, as creatures, are therefore bound to deal with God according to that bond and obligation which is a result of the imago Dei.

Interestingly, Goodwin prefers, instead of “the covenant of works/nature”, the term “The Creation Law, Jus Creationis“.  In other words, “of what was equitable between God, considered merely as Creator, on one part; and his intelligent Creatures that were endued with understanding and will, on the other, simply considered as such creatures.”  This “law” between the Creator and creatures “lay in an equitable transaction between God and them, a congruity, dueness, meetness, on either part.”

Since God is Creator it became him to do for his creatures what was worthy of the Creator-creature relationship.  He was under no obligation to exceed what his position required as a Creator.  He gave all that was due for his creatures to attain their end of happiness because, as Creator, “his will regulated itself by what was meet for their (the creatures) Natures, as such, to receive from him, and for him as a Creator to give.”

During the pre-Fall administration, God bestowed “such faculties and powers, as the creature itself could any way judge requisite to his performing the work of a creature of an intelligent Nature.”   Specifically, then, when God created Adam and Eve, it became him to endow them with his own image of holiness “whereby they might be able to know, to love, and to enjoy a Communion with him … as their chiefest good.” Moreover, on God’s part, as a Creator, he was bound to continue his favor and goodness to Adam and Eve if they would remain in their estate of holiness.

Hence, the promise, “if you do these things, you will live”, was their life on account of “creation dues” and “an equity by creation law”. (All quotes from “Of the Creatures, and their Condition”, Works, 1691-1704, vol. II:20-21.)

Goodwin continues by asserting that though God bound himself to certain “dues” to his creatures, by virtue of his being, he was not obliged to preserve his creature in their state of innocence.  Importantly, Goodwin argues that we must not lay upon God any blame for the Fall (James 1:13-14). God stands free; it is “not upon prerogative, but Equity, that he is a Debtor unto Man.”  God was at perfect liberty to give or not to give what he had not compacted for.

Of course, Goodwin argued in this same work that Adam’s reward could not have been heavenly life; only Christ could merit such blessings.

Finally, regarding grace in the covenant of works, Thomas Boston says that “it was certainly an act of grace, favour, and admirable condescension in God, to enter into a covenant, and such a covenant, with his own creature.” For Boston, man was still bound to obey, perfectly, before the covenant “in virtue of his natural dependence on God.” Man could not have “required eternal life as a reward of his work” before the covenant. The entering into the covenant was itself an act of grace.  However, once the covenant had been instituted, man “may crave the reward on the ground of the covenant.” (T. Boston, The Complete Works of the Late  Rev. Thomas Boston, 12 Vols. (1853; repr., Wheaton, IL: Richard Owen Roberts, Publishers, 1980), VIII:18-19).

The Scot, Hugh Binning, describes grace in the covenant of works in the following way:

there were some outbreakings of the glorious grace and free condescendency of God; for it was no less free grace and undeserved favour to promise life to his obedience, than now to promise life to our faith. So that if the Lord had continued that covenant with us, we ought to have called it grace, and would have been saved by grace as well as now (Common Principles of Christian Relg., lec. 6).

There are, of course, a number of issues that need to be discussed in relation to what has been said.  There are important reasons, both theological and exegetical, why the majority of Reformed theologians have spoken of grace in the covenant of works; and, as you well know, there are reasons why a small minority (very, very small) have resisted the language of grace in the Adamic administration.

So, you see, there are some real points of disagreement on this issue, and I haven’t even touched on Adam’s reward, which was either continued life in Eden or the reward of heaven.  Important Christological issues are connected with this issue!

Notice the similarities. First, from “Of Christ the Mediator”:

Now the next thing to be considered is, how this motion takes with Christ’s heart, which his Father makes, and what he says to it, how he answers it again, and how willingly. And this is as necessary as the former; for besides that it could not be forced on him; for, John v. 26, ‘the Father hath given him to have life in himself, and so to have power over his life.’ John X. 18, ‘I have power over my life, and none can take it from me.’ Besides that, if it came not of him freely, it had not been satisfactory; for satisfactio est redditio voluntaria, it must be a voluntary payment; and as our disobedience was free, so must his satisfaction be. Though he had at last yielded, yet if he sticks at it we are undone, if he makes but an objection. And is it not infinite love he should not, being he was the party to undergo so much debasement?

How did the eldest son’s stomach rise, when but the fat calf was killed for the prodigal? But the eldest, only begotten Son of God, must sacrifice himself for enemies (not the sacrificing of worlds would serve, whereof he could have created enough), and yet not a thought did arise contrary to the Father’s will. So his own words, in answer to the former call of his Father, do shew, ‘Lo, I have come to do thy will, O God,’ Heb. x.7. The Psalmist, from whence the words are borrowed, hath it, ‘I delight to do thy will,’ Ps. xl. 8. ‘Lo, I come’ (says Christ); I am as ready, as forward, O God, as thou to have me; not willing only, but glad; I delight to do thy will. As the sun rejoiceth to run his race, so the Sun of righteousness to run his, for he was ‘anointed with the oil of gladness above his fellows,’ Ps. xlv. 7. He was as glad to do this work as ever he was to eat his meat: John iv. 34, ‘Jesus saith unto them, My meat is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his work.’ ‘With desire’ (saith he) ‘have I desired it’: Luke xxii. 15, ‘And he said unto them, With desire I have desired to eat this passover with you before I suffer.’ He longed as much, and was as much pained, as ever woman with child longed to be delivered, till this work was accomplished. Luke xii. 50, ‘But I have a baptism to be baptized with, and how am I straitened till it be accomplished.’ Christ the Mediator, Works, 5:24

Alright then, now notice that Goodwin uses essentially the same wording in his sermon upon Heb. X, 4-7 called “The One Sacrifice.” I would also like to point out that the similarities are even more obvious in the 1691-1704 edition of Goodwin’s Works because the Nichols editors were rather free in their editing. Hence, there are a few differences in these comparisons that are not in the original edition.

Now then, the second thing remains, how the motion takes with Christ, which his Father makes to him, which was as necessary as the former. For besides that, it could not have been forced on him; for John v. 26, the Father hath given him life in himself, and so to have power over his life: John x.18, ‘I have power over my life, and none can take it from me.’ I say besides, that if it come not off freely, it had not been satisfactory; satisfactio est redditio voluntaria. Our disobedience was free, so must his satisfaction be, ‘ a free will offering of himself.’ God stands more upon the will than the deed; as a kindness is spoked in the doing if it be unwillingly done, so would his satisfaction be. This therefore is another difficulty, and but that his Father struck in so, likely to have been greater than the former. Though he had at last yielded. yet if he sticks as it we are undone; if he makes but one objection, we perish. And is it not infinite love that he should not, being the party to undergo such debasement?

How did the eldest son’s stomach rise when but the fatted calf was killed for the prodigal? But he, the eldest, only begotten Son, must sacrifice himself (worlds would not serve, whereof he could have created enough) for enemies. but not a thought arose contrary to his Father’s will. So his own words in the text shew, ‘Lo, I have come to do thy will, O God,’ The Psalm, from whence the words are borrowed, Ps. xl. 8., hath it, ‘I delight to do thy will. As the sun rejoiceth to run his race, so the Sun of righteousness to run his, for he was ‘anointed with the oil of gladness above his fellows,’ Ps. xlv. 7. As glad as ever he was to eat his meat: John iv. 34, ‘With desire have I desired it,’ yea, and longed as much pain as ever woman with child longed to be delivered, Luke xii. 50. Sermon on Heb. X.4-7, Works, 5:497.

There are a number of small differences and omissions/additions. But, generally, the wording is the same, the Latin phrase is the same, and the proof-texts are the same. I wonder how common it was for writers to simply copy from other places in their writings? By the way, in the original Works (1691-1704), Goodwin does not cite his own work.