By Michael Patrick O’Brien–
The Cape Cod peninsula juts out into the Atlantic Ocean from southeastern Massachusetts like an arm in full muscular flex. Nestled into the interior inflection point of that geographic appendage is a wonderful little corner of the world that I like to call Transfiguration Harbor.
That’s not the place’s real name, of course. The locals call the town Orleans, and the nearby body of water is known as Rock Harbor. Both are good names, but neither captures the stunning images of transfiguration I saw during a recent visit there.
Pilgrims unhappy with their land grants in the nearby Plymouth Colony settled the area some three hundred and thirty years ago. In 1797, their descendants incorporated the settlement into a town.
The founders did not want an English appellation, so they named the town after a duke from Orléans, France, where I was born. They appreciated the duke’s support during the American Revolutionary War.
The British got a small measure of payback for the naming snub in the War of 1812. During an 1814 skirmish over naval equipment, the British set two local American militia ships docked in Rock Harbor on fire and seized two other boats that were at sea.
The intrepid Americans, however, ran both confiscated boats aground so that militia members could reclaim them and capture several British prisoners. The war ended a few months later.
Notwithstanding this unique maritime history, some of the most fascinating skirmishes at Rock Harbor result from the interplay of water, light, and sand.
There are only a few places on the United States East Coast where you can watch the sun set over ocean water. Thanks to its position on the west side of the Cape Cod peninsula, Rock Harbor is one of them.
In fact, ambitious sun lovers can watch the burning orb rise over the Atlantic Ocean at Nauset Beach early in the morning. At dusk on the same day, they need only travel a few miles west to Orleans—like we did—to watch it set over the waters of Cape Cod.
Although the rising and setting suns transform Rock Harbor, the moon’s gravity and changing tides have a say in the process too. At low tide, the ocean retreats. We ventured hundreds of yards into the harbor itself and strolled on sand usually covered by several feet of water.
We watched crab and other shellfish hunker down until the sea returned. We found a stranded boat doing the same thing, because Rock Harbor is navigable for only about two hours before and two hours after high tide.
In addition to creating new swaths of open land, the outgoing tide and resulting rivulets carve and sculpt a series of random ridges, valleys, and dunes into the amber seabed sand. When the sun hits these still-wet formations, the harbor glistens like gold.
This daily transformation inspired a glass sculpture that accentuates the bronze entry doors of an Orleans church just a short walk away from Rock Harbor. Called the Church of the Transfiguration, the remarkable edifice is at the heart of life in the Community of Jesus monastery.
An artist named Gabriele Wilpers designed the glass entryway sculpture at a studio in Taunusstein, Germany. The work features sixty-four individually cast glass panels covered with partially removed gold-leaf paint, almost perfectly replicating the low tide miniature dunes of Rock Harbor.
The Church reveals transfiguration in many other ways too. The Community of Jesus artists have transformed entire walls of the Church into frescoes depicting the life of Christ. They also converted the main church aisle from a mere walkway into a mosaic masterpiece telling the story of salvation history.
The mosaic path starts with Cain and Abel, includes spectacular images of Jonah and the whale, shows in vivid color the animals of Isaiah’s peaceable kingdom, and fully blossoms behind the main altar in a glorious rendition of the transfigured Christ.
Outside the Church, a hundred foot tall freestanding tower with ten bells transforms the local skyline. Standing at the tower’s peak, a ten-foot bronze statue of a guardian angel— wings half spread—guards both town and harbor.
The men and women of the Community of Jesus who built—and who lovingly care for and worship in—the Church are a form of transfiguration themselves. They are part of an ecumenical Christian community following the Benedictine monastic tradition.
The Community’s members hail from a wide variety of denominations and occupations. Some live as celibate brothers and sisters, others live in smaller family communities while married and raising children. One night we watched them all gather in the Church to chant vespers in Latin.
Their unique vocation is an innovative transformation of monastery life itself, essentially creating an extended family of monastics. The prologue to their rule of life—based on the Rule of St. Benedict—perhaps says it best:
“The Community of Jesus has been called to take its place along this venerable [monastic] path. As we make our way, we read the helpful signs left by those who have gone before us, and we endeavor to leave our own for those who will come after us.”
The transfiguration stories in the gospels were always a bit of a mystery for me. I was confused about exactly what it meant to be so dazzlingly transformed. Having visited Orleans and Rock Harbor in Cape Cod, now I understand.
*Mike O’Brien (author website here) is a writer and attorney living in Salt Lake City, Utah. Paraclete Press published his book Monastery Mornings, about growing up with the monks at the old Trappist monastery in Huntsville, Utah, in August 2021. The League of Utah Writers chose it as the best non-fiction book of 2022.
