When I first met John I was struck by two things: His beautiful blue eyes and his angelic face. I was dazzled.

I was not really surprised then, when I found out that John was in the business of beauty.

It was his profession, after all. After high school he studied cosmetology, became a hairdresser, and established a career in making women beautiful.

In fact, John did a lot to make the whole world beautiful. A classically trained vocalist, he sang for choirs in both Virginia and Chicago. He was an excellent cook, a remarkable interior decorator, and managed to train up the sweetest dogs I have ever met.

Beauty, you see, wasn’t just John’s profession, it was his vocation.

And it wasn’t an easy one.

In a world ruled by the values of functionality, profitability, and efficiency, beauty can seem frivolous. Fussy. Unnecessary.

But without beauty, the world becomes a harsh place devoid of warmth and joy:

After all, beige cubicles may efficiently divvy up office space, but the employees who inhabit them are usually eager to depart for crowded neighborhood bars decorated with the work of local artists.

Grey linoleum may not show much dirt, and it may clean easy, but a colorful rug brightens a room, and is so much kinder to our feet.

And slicing off refrigerated cookie dough may be faster and makes for fewer dirty dishes, but the resulting cookies can’t compare to those that are made from scratch.

Now, John, so sensitive to beauty, took the small cruelties of everyday ugliness hard, and this could be irksome to those around him. But while coworkers may have chafed at his use of a gram scale to measure out hair color, the two Miss Americas that he styled were undoubtedly grateful for his precision

John may have been overly critical of perfectly good restaurants, but nobody could eat his stuffed cabbage rolls without appreciation of his culinary skill.

He could be harsh with his comments while watching HGTV and playing “queer eye for the straight homeowner”, and he could exasperate his partner with demands for a $6000 sofa; But he could also make the humblest spaces not only livable, but a delight.

When I read the scriptures for today’s service, I saw that they both conveyed important truths about beauty. In our Old Testament lesson we learned that our purposes, pains, pleasures each have their place, each have their time, each have their season.

And while goals of functionality, profitability and efficiency are to save time, the spirit of right season uses time to bring forth that which is lovely and desirable:

Just as ripe tomatoes in season are so much more delicious than their hothouse counterparts, so is right timing, right measurement, important to the creation of beauty.

And in our gospel passage, Jesus offers a curious companion to this right timing of beauty: He implores his disciples to be both salt and light to the world. Salt makes food delicious and a shining lamp draws attention and lights the way for others. Both saltiness and illumination are aesthetic qualities, just as right measurement and timing are: In skilled hands, in a trained voice, or even in the colorists mixing dish, they all come together to create beauty that delights the soul, and enriches the world.

John entered our human community for many reasons, but chief among them was his constant reminder to all of us that there is more to life than utility: He taught us that good hair and good food, majestic singing, cheerful pets, and well-coordinated décor matter, especially in a world quick to dismiss such things as “luxuries”.

Now today, we who were touched by John’s life and who received from him the beauty which he so freely shared, are gathered here to remember John in death. Now John’s timing at the end. . .it wasn’t good.  But the beauty that he brought us, and taught us, still remains with each of us who sit here today.

And that’s the thing about beauty: Once it is created there isn’t much we can do to control or stop it. We’ve all had our heads turned by a particularly beautiful garment in a store window and we’ve gasped with awe at a spectacular sunset. We carry our experience of beauty into the next minute, the next hour, the next day, the next year.

We are changed by this beauty.

Just as encountering John changed all of us.

Now the season of John’s life has been cut short, long before it came to its proper fruition, yet its salt and its light are not so easily halted. As we have lifted our voices in song and in prayer together, we have testified to the tragedy of his death but have also celebrated the wonders of his life.  That John’s friends and loved ones are united in worship today demonstrates the power of the gifts that he shared with us.

In closing, I would ask that all of us here, during the coming weeks and months, do John and his life honor by acknowledging the marvelous gifts he gave us during his life:

Take extra care with your holiday decorating.

Stop to taste and correct the seasoning for your stew.

Pause to listen to the beautiful opera being played on NPR.

Show the world that you learned from John.

And teach others what he taught you.

Show the world that John was needed.

And know that you are needed too.

The season of John’s life is over.

The season of your life continues.

Walk in the light.

Amen.