Brother Lawrence
Finding God in the Kitchen
Brother Lawrence was not a priest, nor a famous preacher. He wasn’t even considered particularly gifted. He was a lay brother in a Carmelite monastery in Paris, born Nicolas Herman in 1614. His work was ordinary—cooking meals, washing pots, later repairing sandals. Yet out of this hidden life came one of the clearest voices of joy and intimacy with God that the world has ever known.
He had no grand visions or spectacular mystical experiences. What set him apart was the way he chose to turn every task—no matter how small—into an act of love. Peeling potatoes, sweeping floors, stirring soup: for him, these were opportunities to practice what he called the presence of God. Not as an idea, not as theology, but as a living awareness that God was right there in the middle of his day.
Brother Lawrence often called himself “a miserable sinner.” He freely admitted that he failed, sometimes over and over again. But here is the secret: he never stayed stuck in guilt. He would stumble, he would notice it, and then he would smile, turn back to God, and carry on. In his words: “When I fail in my duty, I readily acknowledge it, saying, I am used to do so. I shall never do otherwise if I am left to myself. If I fail not, then I give God thanks acknowledging that it comes from Him.”
When I first read those words, something shifted in me. Raised Catholic, guilt had become such a constant background noise that I often didn’t even realize I was carrying it. I thought I was supposed to stay on that merry-go-round of “try harder, fail again, feel guilty.” But Brother Lawrence refused to ride it. He shows us another way: hop off, breathe, smile, and return to love.
I sometimes imagine him in the monastery kitchen at Saint-Joseph-des-Carmes, wearing a t-shirt that says, “You say I’m a sinner as if it’s a bad thing.” Because for him, being a sinner didn’t mean being rejected. It meant being loved—deeply, securely, constantly—by God.
This is why Brother Lawrence has been one of the greatest inspirations for me in writing this book. He reminds us that the deepest error in our God-image isn’t our sin; it’s the belief that our sin makes us unlovable. His life is proof that you can be painfully aware of your failings and still live in joy, because joy is not about perfection—it is about presence.