George Mercado is an imposing American from Puerto Rico by way of New York City, who felt God calling him to lay down a senior pastorate and become a youth pastor at the age of 35.

Providentially, God led him to Burlington Ontario, where George became the youth pastor at my home church (Brant Bible Church, now Compass Point Bible Church) while I was away at my second year of Bible College (Providence College). When I returned that summer, I offered to help out with the youth group, and George, after crushing several of my ribs with a bear hug, knighted me as a youth leader.

"I've been praying for workers in the harvest, and here you are! Hey, do you play guitar?"

Close-up of The Man in his office -- if we pulled back to a wide shot, you'd see George's notorious "a pile for everything, and everything in a pile" filing system.

And we were off. A day or so later, we went out for burgers at (appropriately enough) "George's Burgers", and I watched in eager fascination as George wrote out his philosophy of ministry on a napkin, putting into words and strategy the things that had been stirring in my heart. I was hooked. And so began a six year journey of youth ministry and being mentored by George in the way that Jesus mentored the disciples: you worked your butt off alongside George, and learned tons along the way.

Whenever I talk about being mentored by George, people always assume there was some curriculum that he took us through, lots of books to read, and assignments to chart our progress as "mentorees". We did take in a "Sonlife Youth Strategies" basic seminar sometime in the first two years of our involvement with George, but mostly it was the example he set that had the most profound impact on all twelve of the youth leaders (the youth group had grown from 12 to over 100 within three years).

During a youth retreat which was blessed with rain all weekend long, George at one point challenged everyone to a mud fight in a nearby field.

As the "mud" fight got more and more intense, an unmistakable odour began to manifest itself -- seems that this empty field had been a horse paddock a few months earlier. Yes, this was indeed the "manure tour" of youth retreats.

The realization of the mixture of mud and horse manure didn't slow anybody down. Our cabins were made pungent in the aftermath, and I don't recall that this particular camp ever allowed us back.

The group actually cleans up pretty good. Wendy & I celebrated our first anniversary on this retreat -- hardcore youth leaders, no doubt about it.

A college friend from Winnipeg dropped in one time to visit the group, and heard George announce, as he lit a single candle in the middle of the group, that tonight would be a sharing time about what God was doing.

"What else will we be doing tonight?" my friend whispered as the group formed a big (70+ people) circle around the candle.

"Just watch." I said. Two and a half hours later, George had to end the sharing time because parents were arriving to take their teenagers home. No games, no announcements, no music, no hype. Just two and a half hours of telling our God-stories to each other.

Drop in on George at the office, and many times, you'd open his office door and think he wasn't there, until you saw his feet sticking out from under his desk. Face down in prayer, again.

"You have to face-plant even when you're by yourself?" I'd ask.

"I'm still way too proud." He'd sheepishly admit, from somewhere amid the piles of books, boxes, and stacks of paper that seemed to grow like weeds in his office and on his desk.

George loved it when people were honest about their own struggles and doubts with their Christianity; he encouraged and in some cases, even provoked people to get past the "Sunday School Answer Syndrome" and deal with the real questions. "Either we shake them up now, or university will do it later", he'd say. "At least now, they have us as a support."

Wendy enroute to winning "grossest skit" contest

First-ever drama team. That's yours truly, second from right, and my new bride Wendy at far right in front.

Snapshot of a youth leaders meeting, when we had added a team of high schoolers as well, called the "Board of Slaves": Watching a high school senior named Christine (wearing the "Roots" sweatshirt in the picture) break down and weep when people shared answers to prayer over the previous summer. She had been raised in church, but for the first time, at age 17, she realized something that she'd heard all her life was actually true.

"God really does answer prayer!" She said through her tears. It was a holy moment.

George also had an amazing gift for speaking life and encouragement into peoples' lives, helping them discover their gifts and then encouraging them to begin using them. He was also very deliberate about outreach, but not in the way most people are.

"We don't hold a single outreach event until they (the youth) have the vision for it. Otherwise, it's just us doing it for them, and they won't develop a Great Commission mindset."

George: "How did the events go? The band? The message?"

Us: "Awesome! It was totally awesome! Everything went great! The whole night was a total success!"

George: "Did anyone bring one of their unbelieving friends?"

Us: "Well, no."

George: "Then was it really an outreach?"

As we continued with our monthly outreaches -- and people began bringing their friends -- George developed a beautifully maddening habit of giving short messages to the gathered group, but refusing to actually share the Gospel directly. "If you want to know more about what I'm talking about, ask the person you came with," he'd say.

"Feed the lions" was George's favourite code phrase for "never confront someone on an empty stomach -- yours or theirs"

Most of my cabin group on a retreat (that's me on the far right). George always seemed to put all the rowdies in my cabin. I have no idea why.

Retreats were always some of the greatest memories for all of us involved in ministry with George. We typically had a fall and a spring retreat, and the worship was always intense (no matter how primitive the equipment), and these became the "stones of remembrance" that people could point to as spiritual markers in their journey.

To this day, if you spend any time connecting with former members of "Live Connection" (the group's self-chosen name), inevitably somebody finds some old retreat photos, and we all have laughs about how young and hopelessly 80's we were.

More significantly, whenever we all reminisce about those retreats, there are tons of God-stories that come up about how God moved, lives were changed, and how the impact of those wild and crazy weekends is still bearing fruit in peoples' lives. (Ie. When this picture was taken, the punk in the leather jacket was only about an hour away from surrendering his life to Jesus.)

Keeping the advancing Kingdom foremost in our minds

Our youth group's motto (mantra, almost) was "The gospel of Jesus Christ to Burlington, Hamilton, Toronto, Ontario, Canada, North America, the World..." (our version of Jerusalem, Judea, Samaria and the ends of the earth).

After six years with George, in 1990, I was the first youth leader (there would be numerous others in the years to follow) to leave the group to become a fulltime youth pastor. I had completed an internship at Brant as part of my master's degree from Tyndale Seminary, and George had -- with some regret because it would mean my departure -- encouraged me to step into fulltime ministry. George reminded the youth group, during our tearful last meeting with them, that my first pastorate was part of the fulfillment of our stated vision.

After I began pastoring on the Left West Coast, it was my privilege to invite George to fly out to Victoria and be a guest speaker on one of our retreats -- previously, we had always utilized a team of our own youth leaders for speaking at our retreats. The members of our youth ministry -- called "UXB" -- had heard many, many stories about George in the first couple of years we were there, and to be able to meet him and have him minister among us was a treat for everybody.

For me, as my first pastorate was crumbling around my ears (I had been labelled "too Vineyard" and therefore a threat), having George spend that weekend with us was doubly encouraging. The members of UXB had been touched by George's ministry among them, and Wendy & I had not only the opportunity to be with George once again, but also to find that -- as always -- George was the "safe place" where we could honestly and deeply share what we were going through, and find support, encouragement, and fervent prayer from George.

Mmmm... coffee! My favourite George-ism about evangelism: "You gotta earn the right to be heard."

Typical wild and woolly worship time on a retreat -- yes, the back of my pants is wet, from a prank pulled on me just before worship began; despite that, this group was a healthy place to stretch, take risks, and grow as a worship leader

In the summer of 2003, Wendy and I were able to visit George in Cleveland, seeing him for the first time in well over a decade. And, most significantly, we were seeing him for the first time since the stroke. Up till then, we had had numerous phone and email conversations with Jerri, and when George would come on the line, despite the fact that all he can say is "yes" and "wow", you could hear the excitement in his voice when he heard us. But we were nervous about actually seeing him again in person.

As we pulled into their driveway, we could hear George's booming laugh welcoming us, and the one-armed bear hug he gave me, while not quite as crushing as that day back in the summer of 1984, was still strong and heart-felt. Over the next day and a half, we even managed a beginning towards understanding the gestures and signing that George uses to communicate now.

Posting this seems a pale comparison to actually seeing, hearing, and experiencing George Mercado, but doing so feels like I'm giving honour to a true mentor, friend, and spiritual father. Despite the length of this writing, it still feels like my words have failed to adequately express the impact that George has had on me, and my great love and appreciation for him.

George, if you get a chance to read this, know that the respect, admiration, and gratitude that Wendy and I feel for you knows no bounds, and let me say to you, as you have said to me many times (just imagine a Bronx accent, okay?): "Hey, I love you, man."

George supervising the "Fight of the Century": the weapons are Whipped Cream in cans. On the left is my new bride Wendy, who has just received a right hook to the jaw with one of said cans.