From Filthy Rags to Original Love: Reclaiming Worth Beyond Self-Improvement

The question of inherent flawlessness – the idea that we aren’t born broken, but fundamentally whole – is a surprisingly disruptive one. It challenges deeply ingrained assumptions about the human condition, assumptions I absorbed early on through a seemingly innocuous childhood activity: Awana. My church’s youth ministry organization was called Awana, which stands for “Approved Workmen Are Not Ashamed.” It’s, I maintain, the least catchy slogan ever devised for children. The phrase comes from 2 Timothy 2:15 (King James Version): “Study to shew thyself approved unto God, a workman that needeth not to be ashamed.”

Awana began in 1950 in Chicago as a Bible memorization program for kids. As GotQuestions.org explains, the program’s goal is to “reach kids, equip leaders, and change the world” by making one disciple at a time. The boys were called Pals. The girls were called Chums, which made us sound far more cheerful and ready to lend a hand than we actually were. I wore a gray uniform and a vest where badges for memorization achievement accumulated in neat rows.

Every Wednesday evening, I would climb the church stairs to the loft, where the ceiling narrowed and the air thinned, and then line up with the other gray Chums and wait to recite. A leader held the handbook open and listened for precision.

The Weight of Uncleanliness

One of the verses I memorized for points, one that has stayed with me, was from Isaiah 64:6.

“But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousness are as filthy rags;
and we all do fade as a leaf;
and our iniquities, like the wind, have taken us away.”

It was bracing language for an 8-year-aged. Not only was I unclean, but even my best attempt at goodness was filthy. I recited it clearly. I did not falter. I sat down, having publicly agreed that, at base, I was compromised. This doctrine, rooted in the concept of original sin, was heavily influenced by Augustine of Hippo, who argued that humanity inherits a fallen condition from Adam. We weren’t born neutral; we were born marked. The spiritual life, as presented, was a constant climb, requiring effort, obedience, and a reliance on divine assistance to overcome our inherent deficiencies.

This early framing shaped a lifelong habit of self-scrutiny, a constant assessment of whether I was measuring up. It wasn’t about achieving perfection, but about managing a fundamental flaw. As Wikipedia details, Awana now operates in over 100 countries, reaching millions of children weekly, and its core message – though perhaps not consciously perceived – continues to reinforce this narrative of inherent imperfection.

Shifting the Gaze: From “Up and Out” to “Down and In”

Last month, I attended a retreat at Upaya Zen Center in Santa Fe, New Mexico. The program, called Original Love, was led by Zen teacher Henry Shukman and Roshi Joan Halifax. Upaya, with its adobe buildings and mountain backdrop, provided a stark contrast to the stark loft of my childhood church.

Henry described two movements in spiritual life. One, “up and out,” is the impulse to transcend our perceived shortcomings, to refine ourselves into a better version. The other, “down and in,” is the willingness to turn toward our lived experience – including fear and shame – and to see through the ego’s constant require for self-management. “Up and out” felt intimately familiar. It was the Awana strategy carried into adulthood: transcendence as salvation. The promise that enough effort, penitence, or belief might finally lead to acceptance.

“Down and in” was different. It didn’t offer badges or promise escape. It asked me to remain with what I would normally edit out. Henry offered a particularly striking idea: “There is a part of you that does not respond to improvement.” Not because it’s stubborn, but because it doesn’t *need* correction. Beneath the conditioned self, beneath the striving ego, there is no inherent corruption, only love – original love – not earned, assembled, or improved into existence.

The Body’s Response

The difference between these two perspectives isn’t merely theological; it’s profoundly physical. When I believe I am fundamentally flawed, my body organizes itself accordingly. My chest lifts in self-presentation, my jaw firms, my spine tenses with readiness. I’m in a constant state of micro-adjustment, bracing for evaluation. My breath becomes shallow, my eyes scan for feedback, and my life becomes a performance.

But when I allow for the possibility of inherent wholeness, my body relaxes. My shoulders drop, my breath deepens, my belly softens. My weight settles into my feet, grounding me in the present moment. The stance shifts from performance to presence. This isn’t about denying imperfections, but about decoupling them from my core worth.

Reinterpreting the Rags

Walking back to my room after Henry’s talk, I found myself revisiting that verse from Isaiah: “All our righteousness are as filthy rags.” I had always understood it as an indictment of my inherent inadequacy. But what if those “filthy rags” aren’t the person, but the ego’s attempts at righteousness? What if they represent my anxious performances, my curated goodness, my subtle attempts to prove my worthiness? What if “all our righteousness” refers to the fabric my ego stitches from fear and comparison?

The ego continuously produces these garments, cutting and sewing from insecurity, dyeing everything in urgency, and constantly asking, “Is this enough yet? Am I presentable now?” If that’s what Isaiah is calling filthy, then the verse isn’t an attack on my essence, but on my self-manufactured identity.

The rhythm of my steps slowed. I could feel, almost in real time, the difference between the two interpretations. In one, my body leaned forward, braced for correction. In the other, my weight settled more fully into my feet.

What Remains: A Shift in Perspective

Perhaps Augustine and Shukman aren’t arguing across centuries, but pointing to different layers of the same experience. The ego’s righteousness fades, tossed about by fear. But beneath that fabric, something remains untouched. Christian Bible Fellowship notes that Awana has been a leader in children’s ministry for over 60 years, helping churches raise youth to know, love, and serve Christ. But what if that service doesn’t need to be *earned* through constant self-improvement?

By the time I reached my room, the reflex to improve had loosened its grip. I stood at the threshold, considering the part of me that doesn’t respond to improvement – the part that never was a rag, the part I was beginning to recognize as original love. I turned the key and opened the door, feeling a sense of coming home, not to a perfected self, but to the self I already am.

This isn’t about abandoning growth, but about shifting the foundation. It’s about recognizing that the core isn’t flawed, but already whole, and that true transformation comes not from fixing what’s broken, but from uncovering what’s already beautifully, inherently present.