Not exactly the "light of the world"

Yesterday my guy and I were driving in a suburb that shall remain nameless and saw a church that shall also remain nameless.It had an LED sign out front, attached to the sign that carried the church's name. Something like this, only more monument-style, on the ground in stone, with orangey letters on black:


I had seen quite a few ugly corners of Chicagoland on the drive, and even though (or perhaps, because) the sign sat on a nicely manicured church lawn on a nice enough corner, it struck me as the ugliest thing I saw on the drive. A major violation of my standards for churchly beauty.

It bothered me so much so that I found my mind drifting to it in church this morning, as I contemplated the standard-issue black-and-silver hotel-conference-room-type table that doubles as the communion table at the new church I'm part of. Adorned as is with a dozen or more large pillar candles, a few goblets of juice, and some perfectly proportioned loaves of bread, I find it lacking.

I'm not asking for stained glass, aging fresco, or expensive altar vestments.

There are two moments in my life during which I remember being struck by something's beauty. Both were in church, and both were fairly simple scenes: a jauntily draped fabric and two simple flowers on an altar in Geneva (Switzerland, not a Wisconsin lake town), and a potted pink flower bringing some Easter vigil brightness to the chancel of my favorite Wrigleyville church.

I think of them often as I'm trying to brighten up my space at home or work.

Beauty is easy to create and easy to destroy. What are the bright spots and big offenders you've seen lately?