Still Very Good: Wrestling with Worth, Weakness, and the Words of the Saints

In the Beginning: “Very Good”

“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth…” And it was good. Over and over again in the first chapter of Genesis, we’re told that what God made was good. The land, the sea, the stars, the animals — all of it declared good.

But then, on the sixth day, something changes.

God creates human beings in His image and likeness — male and female — and when He steps back to look at all of creation, including us, the verdict is not just “good,” but very good.

That phrase has always stayed with me. In those two words — very good — God names the truth of who we are. Our goodness isn’t a reward for performance — it’s the reflection of the One who made us.

The Fall: Wounded, Not Worthless

A few chapters later, the story darkens. Sin enters the world through human disobedience. Adam and Eve grasp for something apart from God — they no longer trust the Giver of Good to define what is good. The image of God in us is not destroyed, but it is marred. We become disoriented, broken, inwardly divided.

Still, even after the Fall, the truth remains: we are still made in His image.

We are not garbage. We are not beyond repair.

Sin clouds our vision of that truth, but it doesn’t erase it. God’s love doesn’t flicker when we fail. It doesn’t hang by a thread — it holds us even when we let go.

So how do we know that’s true? How do we know we’re not just hoping, or flattering ourselves?

Redemption: Christ Confirms Our Worth

The Incarnation — God becoming man in Jesus Christ — answers this with thunderous clarity.

The Cross silences any doubt. It’s not just a rescue mission — it’s a declaration of worth.

“But God proves his love for us in that while we were still sinners Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8).

He didn’t wait for us to become worthy. He made the first move. He took on our wounds, our sins, our death — to restore what we couldn’t.

We are redeemed not because we earned it, but because He wanted us. The price He paid is the clearest measure of our value.

So again — if we’re “very good,” and if we’re redeemed by Love Himself…
Why do so many saints talk like they’re worthless?

The Language of Miserable Servants

If you’ve ever read the writings of the saints, you’ve probably noticed this pattern: so many refer to themselves as “miserable,” “unworthy,” “poor,” or “unprofitable.”

At first, I struggled with that. I grew up in a culture that emphasizes confidence and self-esteem. And I also believe, deeply, that every human being is good, valuable, and loved.

So why the harsh language?

Jesus Himself gives us a clue in Luke 17:10:

“When you have done all you have been commanded, say, ‘We are unprofitable servants; we have done what we were obliged to do.’”

This isn’t self-loathing. It’s a different worldview. It’s not about denying your worth — it’s about recognizing your place.

Everything we have, everything we do, everything we are, is gift. We can’t put God in our debt. Even our best efforts are possible only through grace.

The saints didn’t hate themselves — they knew themselves. They saw clearly that their goodness was not self-sourced. They were not miserable because they were unloved. They were humble because they were loved anyway.

An Analogy: The Dependent Servant

Imagine a father asking his child to rake the leaves in the yard.

The child walks out, rake in hand, looks around at the giant piles scattered across the lawn and says:

“Dad… I want to help, but I can’t do this unless you’re with me and helping me the whole time.”

From a practical, human standpoint, that might sound like an unhelpful worker.

But in the Kingdom of God, that is not just a noble sentiment — it’s an honest confession of reality.

God doesn’t ask us to serve Him because He needs the job done.
He asks because He wants us to be with Him in the doing.

He wants to work beside us — not because He lacks power, but because we lack everything without Him.

Our dependence isn’t optional or ideal — it’s constant and fundamental.

Even our ability to lift the rake, to breathe, to love, to try — all of it is grace.

The saints didn’t grovel when they called themselves “miserable servants.”
They simply named the truth:

“I have nothing of my own. I need You for everything.”

And God loves that kind of truth.
It’s not weakness — it’s trust.

In one of Saint Catherine of Siena’s early visions, Christ said to her:

“Do you know, daughter, who you are, and who I am? If you know these two things, you will be blessed. You are she who is not; whereas I am He who is.”

Catherine’s confessor, Blessed Raymond, explained that all creatures are made from nothingness and tend toward nothingness — except that God holds us in being through love.

Sin draws us back toward that nothingness, for:

“Apart from Me you can do nothing” (John 15:5).

To recognize our dependence, then, isn’t despair — it’s humility, gratitude, and love for the One who gives us life and sustains us.

The saints knew this. And they rejoiced in it.

The Final Word

St. Thérèse of Lisieux spoke of her “Little Way” — a spirituality rooted not in doing great things, but in doing small things with great love. She didn’t try to become impressive; she leaned on God like a child.

Regarding her Little Way, she wrote:

“It is to recognize our nothingness, to expect everything from God as a little child expects everything from its father.”

That’s not despair. That’s surrender.
It’s not self-hatred — it’s radical trust in a God who gives everything.

We are dust, breathed upon by God (Genesis 2:7).
We are good because He made us.
We are redeemed because He loves us.
We are dependent because He is the source of all.

The tension between dignity and humility isn’t a contradiction — it’s the mystery of what it means to be human in the eyes of God.

We can call ourselves “unprofitable servants” not because we lack value, but because we recognize that our value is a gift, not an achievement.

And somehow, in all of that —
God looks at us…
and still says:
Very good.