[Written for a forthcoming book by Michael Delia on Fr. Gerry O'Rourke's forgiveness process.]
This book on forgiveness, lovingly assembled and written by Michael Delia, is based on the work of Fr. Gerry O’Rourke, a Roman Catholic priest. Of course, all Catholic priests are schooled in the sacrament of forgiveness. Knowing something, however, even believing it, is not the same as being able to get your hands on it when you need it most. We know we should forgive, we may want to forgive, but often we struggle to find a way. So Gerry created four questions as a guide, a simple, if not necessarily easy, process that has worked miracles for those who have followed it.
Born in the town of Roscommon, Ireland, in 1925, and christened Patrick Gerard O’Rourke, we all knew him as Gerry. He was named Patrick for an uncle who had been studying for the priesthood when he died of influenza in the pandemic of 1918. Gerry himself would die during the Covid pandemic in 2020, although not from the virus but heart failure.
The oldest of eight children, Gerry was ordained to the priesthood in 1950. Another brother also became a priest, and a sister became a nun. With the exception of five years in a rural Irish parish, Gerry spent his priesthood working outside Ireland – in Wisconsin, Los Angeles, Brazil, and finally in the San Francisco Bay Area.
In 1973, Gerry stepped aside from the active priesthood, feeling burned out. But after participating in The est Training that same year and subsequently volunteering and working in the est organization, he took up his priesthood again in 1979 with new energy and commitment. For the rest of his life, Gerry would be both a priest and an active supporter of the transformational work of Werner Erhard.
Gerry often said, "We live in a kairos moment," referring to the Greek term favored by theologian Paul Tillich for times of crisis and opportunity which demand our attention and action. And Gerry used that kairos moment to act. For more than 10 years, he served as the Director of Ecumenical and Interfaith Affairs for the Archdiocese of San Francisco. He also was instrumental in the creation and establishment of the San Francisco Interfaith Council, the Interfaith Center of the Presidio in San Francisco, and the United Religions Initiative.
In the early 1980s, Gerry was one of the founders of the Mastery Foundation with the purpose of empowering leaders of faith communities working in ministry and service to others and grassroots leaders working to reconcile and heal communities where religious identity is part of a conflict or division. In 1984, Werner Erhard designed and led our original program Making a Difference: A Course for Those Who Minister and has generously worked with and supported us in the years since. It was our commitment to reconciliation in places divided by religious differences and Gerry’s love for Ireland that first took us there in 1986 and then to Northern Ireland in 1994. Gerry faithfully served on the Board of Trustees from the beginning and as our Chair from 2005 until his death.
I am a man of forgiveness and love. That was Gerry’s declaration, the commitment from which he lived. All he wanted from life was to be useful, to make a positive difference in the lives of those around him. He was not a holy man in the sense of being pious or sanctimonious. Life was not necessarily easy for him, but he bore his burdens lightly and mostly quietly. He loved a good time, which usually meant long conversations with friends over good food and wine. You never went wrong following one of Gerry’s restaurant recommendations. And often, if you mentioned Gerry to the restaurant staff, you were showered with bigger smiles and special treatment.
There were no strangers around Gerry. Late in 2018, at the age of 93, he could no longer live on his own and moved to assisted living near his parish church. When I visited him a week or two later, he knew all the staff and residents – not just their names, but the details of their lives. He knew how they came to be there, where they were from; he knew about their families, their interests, and their religion, if they had one.
It probably helped that he had the appearance and personality of someone sent over from the Central Casting Department to play the role of an Irish priest. Gerry was unfailingly and authentically welcoming in that way the Irish have. “You’re very welcome to Ireland,” they say when you visit, as if they are not just greeting you but delighted to offer you the entire place as a gift. In his presence, you felt welcome, and you felt his love for you. Nothing gooey or sentimental for this Irishman. His love was fierce as well as gentle, kind and reassuring. He gave you his full attention and listened so carefully that you felt yourself lighter, more at peace, when you walked away. Many who met him only once or in passing remembered him long afterward.
But you would be wrong if you thought him a pushover. There was a toughness to him, a kind of unrelenting will and single-mindedness, especially when it came to forgiveness. He knew that forgiveness ultimately was an act of will, not a sentiment or emotion. We forgive when we are willing, and not before. So, he honored your negative answers to his questions, but he never stopped asking you to look again.
In the end, all you really need to know about Gerry O’Rourke, as he would have told you himself, is that he was a man of forgiveness and love. He lived from a context of forgiveness that allowed him to see the places where forgiveness was missing. He saw past right and wrong, good and bad, which allowed him to contribute, to open doors that had been slammed shut by blame, shame, and hurt. It allowed him to see possibilities where none had existed and to make those possibilities accessible to others.
Years ago, the secretary of the church where Gerry was working told me about a funeral where Gerry had presided. The family of the deceased was deeply divided, full of anger and resentment for each other. “Let me guess,” I said. “Gerry preached about forgiveness.” “Yes,” she said, “but he spoke about forgiveness as if it were a new thing!”
Forgiveness was always new with Gerry, always available, always miraculous. He lived to make the possibility and the reality of forgiveness available to everyone. The four simple, yet difficult, questions in this book are his legacy and his gift to us all.
