Journey to Antipodes

By Jay C. Bugg

Journey to Antipodes tells the story of Dr. Judah Eisen, a converted rabbi who must teach his flock the truth about the Second Coming, with shocking evidence that occurred at the destruction of the temple in AD 70. His protg, Nolan McDonald, embodies the fullness of Christ as never witnessed before. Nolan must carry the message of his aging mentor to the colonies banished to the outer edges of the wilderness. The implications will change not only the lives of Christians living in a post-apocalyptic world but will require a faith that will alter the course of church history for future generations.

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Oct 17, 2013
• ISBN: 9781490808918

Jay C. Bugg

Jay Bugg received his Bachelor of Arts degree in Biblical Studies from Covenant College, Lookout Mountain, Georgia. His studies included four years of Classical and Koine Greek, the language of the New Testament. He has spent more than forty years studying Church History, Systematic Theology, and Eschatology-the study of the end times. He believes Jesus Christ is the Son of God and real life only comes from embracing the mystery of Christ’s death on the cross. He and his wife Cathryn live in Austin, Texas.

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Chapter 1

Ignorance is a great barrier to godliness.

—Origen

H is tweed jacket and teeth both carried the stigma of his meerschaum pipe, now slightly molded to the shape of his hand by the intensity of his reflections. Once again he took the pipe from his baggy side pocket, the bowl still warm and the silk-lined pocket worn thin as a fishnet by unrelenting cinders. Judah sat back in his chair, deep in thought about how to move his flock into the truth of Jesus’ words, as the sweet-smelling smoke swirled upward like incense before the throne of God.

He was a small man and a bit frail-looking, but Judah took boldly to his call of shepherding the flock and feeding his sheep. He had taught them faithfully from the Scriptures, which he believed to be the infallible and inerrant word of God.

For Judah, a sermon was ready when the truth burned in his soul like a simmering coal, perfectly ashen on the outside but lava-red within. He was ready to teach his flock the truth about Jesus return, but he wasn’t sure if they were ready or if he still had time.

Excuse me, Dr. Eisen. I’ll be leaving for the evening. Is there anything I can get you? asked Lydia, Judah’s assistant and fellow scholar of Middle Eastern studies.

I’m sorry, Lydia. What did you say?

Lydia had a small voice, much like a whisper, hardly enough to pull Judah away from the clamoring questions competing for his response. She repeated her question.

Thank you, but I’m fine. I’m just finishing up, he said without looking up from his work. Then he turned to her, using a more solemn tone. I’ll take care of the lights in the vestibule. Get some rest now—everything is about to change, and we will need our strength to serve the people.

I understand, but are you sure I can’t make you something to eat? Lydia doted on Judah like she would a grandfather.

No, thank you, Lydia, and please call me Judah.

Good night, Judah.

Judah’s study was paneled with reclaimed birchwood that had once graced the walls of an old church in Boston. During the twenty-year building project, many of the world’s oldest churches sent relics, pews, and stained-glass windows to be used in the churches built in Antipodes. His study had an aura of refinement, as antique furnishings mixed with the fragrance of scholarship emanating from the old books stacked meticulously in every nook and stacked high enough on his desk to safeguard him from meddlesome students.

Opening an English mahogany cabinet dating to the Edwardian era, he took out a bottle of wine sent to him by an old friend in Italy. Blowing the dust off the label, he grabbed a wineglass from a silver tray placed squarely on a Louis XVI leather desktop.

I think now is the perfect time to enjoy this fine Barolo, my friend, he said to the empty and worn-out seat of the red velvet Queen Anne chair across from his desk while polishing the crystal with the frayed edge of his jacket sleeve. Christaldo, his roommate in seminary, had sent Judah a bottle the day he moved to Antipodes. Christaldo knew he was too old to be chosen, but he was reassured from God that he needed to stay with his congregation in the mountains of Italy. Antipodes’s location often reminded Judah of the snowcapped peaks of the Dolomites.

Christaldo, you taught me a great deal about trusting God and relying on his grace, Judah said. Then he took a corkscrew from the middle drawer of his desk—as if this were not the first time he had hosted an invisible guest with such elegance. He removed the cork with the finesse of a connoisseur, and the distinctive pop added gaiety to a solemn moment. He raised his glass: To God’s much-needed grace in the new world.

Near the north gate and outside of the city, a once-busy airfield looked barren for the first time.

You’re clear for takeoff. The inevitable and trancelike words filled the small cockpit. As the plane left the runway, Colin gazed down, and suddenly the unwelcome reality of what was coming left a knot in his stomach, forcing him to bend forward in his seat with his arms clenched around his waist. The twin-engine turbo looked like a fly buzzing around the head of an elephant as the dome mirrored the dull gray sky.

Where is he? Colin asked.

The pilot looked confused. Where is who?

God.

Colin’s faith was overwhelmed by the calculations of his profession and the profundity of what was coming. Nothing happens by chance—only years of planning and great minds can pull this off. In a few short weeks, he and almost everyone on the planet would be wiped away—by what? An accident? Are accidents planned by a deity, or is God even paying attention?

The clouds of distrust began to soak up his well-rehearsed apologetics for the faith. His beliefs, his doctrinal teaching—the human sacrifice by crucifixion, the creeds, the blood, the forgiveness of sins—all seemed so primitive now. The whole idea seemed bizarre and prehistoric, with no intellectual gravity to ground it.

Why couldn’t Colin see this before now? How could he, an engineer, be so naive? And there she was, a perfectly planned and orderly universe, not made by God’s hands but built by brilliant designers and structural engineers. She was Antipodes, man’s best hope to continue life on earth.

That’s what you believe in—what you can see and feel! he moaned, still clutching his waist. I created her—look, God, if you really exist, look!

The pilot became uncomfortable. Settle down, Colin. We are all in this together.

Colin stared down into his empty coffee cup at the dregs settled on the bottom. He began to cry, his face buried in his large, calloused hands. I’m sorry, God. Please forgive me for my unbelief.

Colin, are you going to be all right?

Embarrassed by the question, Colin turned his head toward the window. Then he noticed a large rainbow arching over Antipodes, the dome sparkling as the sun etched its way across the surface and lightly warmed his face. He heard an unmistakable voice: Well-done, my good and faithful servant.

He sighed deeply and turned to the pilot. How about some more coffee, Captain?

Chapter 2

NASA reported on December 12, 2012, that Toutatis, an asteroid discovered by the French astronomer Charles Pollas, will fly near Earth at a distance of 6.93 million kilometers. Toutatis will not come close to Earth again until the year 2196.

C olin and his handpicked team of engineers would never see Antipodes again.

The plane made a southeast turn and headed back to Texas. Colin’s son, Benjamin, was guaranteed a spot in Antipodes, along with Benjamin’s wife, Mary.

Benjamin pulled on his boots that morning in an almost ceremonial fashion, mentally noting it as a somber moment. His father told him he was proud of him and gave him the boots for his birthday. They were past broken in; he wore them every day and was proud to show them off on the construction site. It was only right to wear them today, the last time he would see his father alive.

The boots were made of ostrich skin, not the full quill type with noticeable pock marks but made from the leg of the ostrich, more like a lizard skin roughness and of a character that reflected his father’s tough outer exterior.

Benjamin worked as many hours as possible outside the dome. His cracked and weather-beaten leather jacket was lined with sheep skin, to keep out the Alaskan winter wind, something that would soon become only a memory inside the dome.

If it were not for his sacrifice, we would not be here, said Benjamin.

Your father is a great man, and I know God will bless the work he’s done here, said Mary, hoping to reassure her husband.

Colin’s twenty years of commitment to the project had not been in vain. His service had satisfied the council and earned his son and wife their entrance to the city.

Now in his thirties, Benjamin, tall and lanky like his father, with chestnut-brown hair hanging over his eyebrows, stared through the window of the hangar. He was losing his father and his closest friend.

Scholarly genes ran in the family’s veins. Benjamin had become a well-known geneticist, and his talents would be useful in studying many of the effects of the asteroid on all life, as well as in the quest for longevity of human life under the dome. He watched as the plane, along with his father’s life, vanished in the clouds.

Mary was seven years younger than Benjamin, a Damkot, of Dutch descent, with delft blue eyes as beautiful and deep as the North Sea of her birthplace. Her fishtail braid held firm, clearly dividing her feminine shoulders.

Mary’s faded jeans kept her connected to the real world outside the dome and a tan barn coat of oiled, water resistant cloth kept her mackinaw wool vest dry during the drizzle that persisted for months at a time. Her laced leather boots highlighted her long legs although she stood nearly a foot shorter than Benjamin.

Mary had already said her good-byes to her family in the Hague, but the tears streamed down her face as she relived the horror of it with Benjamin. She held his hand, her fingers tightly woven with his. I know this is painful, but we have to believe! Somehow we’ll come through this.

I want us to start a family of our own; it’s the only thing that’s real to me now, said Benjamin.

He pulled Mary close, and they both sobbed. They turned and walked away from the small hangar built outside the city.

It was the last plane out.

Jebanyanu, nicknamed Jeba, was a well-known political insider in Israel and was elected president of the council of Antipodes nearly two years before the impact.

As he walked into his office, he observed the painting at the entrance, slightly nudging it up on the right; the gilded frame was now perfectly horizontal, parallel with the foyer table, as it should be. The original oil canvas, Aristotle Contemplating a Bust by Rembrandt, had been donated by the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City after Jeba was elected president of Antipodes. Jeba felt the painting represented man’s definitive turn to reason at the height of the Renaissance—his goal for the citizens of Antipodes.

His entire office was dressed in classic European décor, grounded by a Tibetan silk rug of bright red patterns stretching from the sitting room parlor to the solid cherry desk in the bay window overlooking the city. People from all over the world had donated their most valuable possessions to the only surviving city in hopes that their charity would guarantee their legacy in the new world.

Jeba sat at his desk and reflected on the night of his election victory, deep in thought on how to move the citizens of Antipodes into a secular world, a world like the Renaissance, full of ideas and governed by man’s intellect. The speeches and public appearances in Antipodes had left him exhausted. His outlook for the new world was never what he pretended it to be during the campaign.

May I come in? asked Miriam, his wife.

Of course, come and sit. I want to know your thoughts.

Thoughts about what? asked Miriam, as she sat in front of him, her soft rounded elbows resting attentively on each arm of the chair, waiting for the lecture on man’s greatest achievements without any help from God.

What kind of world do we really want to create? asked Jeba, loosening his Windsor and falling back into his large executive chair.

Create? Don’t get ahead of yourself. You may be president, but you are not God, said Miriam.

If there is a God, said Jeba under his breath.

You are about to oversee the future development of civilization. We will be starting all over, with infinite possibilities, said Miriam. The pitch of her voice grew more excited, determined to move him in a positive direction.

Actually I see the possibilities as being very finite, and I am troubled by what we cannot do.

Miriam looked confused, a state Jeba often evoked to derail her optimism. Like what? What do you want to do that you cannot do?

Everything! We have limited resources, and we will never live to see our world even come close to what it was before the asteroid, answered Jeba, as he breathed deeply and loosened his tie further, irritated by her childlike expectations.

There is a chance for a lasting peace, a peace for all times. People will need each other like never before, and they will embrace new ideas. We will have to work together just to survive, said Miriam.

New ideas? Have you heard the nonsense being spread around by the Christians?

You mean the second coming of Jesus? asked Miriam.

Yes, I’m sick of it. His olive complexion turned pale.

It will pass, but don’t let them think you are not sympathetic to their beliefs, cautioned Miriam.

The world as we know it is coming to an end, and we are living in the most remote place on the planet. We will spend years living in this glass house. I’m grateful to be alive, but I don’t want to be dealing with lunatics looking over my shoulder and praying for Armageddon.

Miriam stood and walked over to the D-shaped table of inlaid rosewood and picked up a vintage copy of the Torah, placed diagonally on the table, perfectly accenting the French porcelain lamps.

Try reading this instead of decorating with it. You might want to save your own soul before you try leading others, she said, as she let the leather-bound Torah drop on his desk and quickly left the room.

Jeba put the book back exactly as it was, keeping his desk spotless and uncluttered—the way he wanted his life and the world around him to be, orderly and predictable.

Colin had just enough time left to be reunited with his wife, Elizabeth, whom he had not seen in months. They decided to spend their last days together in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains of northern New Mexico. The Spanish name, blood of Christ, derived from the beautiful reddish tint of the mountains at sunset, was the perfect place for their final days together. Now in his seventies, Colin wasn’t concerned about losing his own life, but he wept for the many people shut out of the city he had built.

Domes were first built in the second century AD by the Romans under Constantinople. The strength of the architecture was far superior to any buildings at the time. The Pantheon in Rome was considered the largest dome in the world for nearly two thousand years, making it the single greatest building achievement during the Roman architectural revolution.

Chapter 3

T he asteroid’s impact was predicted twenty years in advance. Named Toutatis, after the pagan Celtic god, more than one billion years old and nearly three miles in diameter, it would hit the earth at more than twenty-five thousand miles per hour. Scientists had miscalculated the size of Toutatis years earlier, and estimated it would miss the earth by eighteen lunar distances, or almost four million miles.

Toutatis would create so much debris on earth, the sun would not be able to penetrate the murk, creating freezing temperatures and major storms across the globe. Human life on earth would not survive.

The preparation began. A twenty-year project was started to build a domed city. The dome would provide a natural living environment to shield all those living inside from the impact, which would consume everything else. The maximum occupancy was one million. Lotteries were used to allow the fairest method for being chosen. Millions decided they would prefer dying at home, and millions more died over the twenty-year span. Medical attention was limited to the young, and childbirth to only one per couple, and only to those who were chosen. Psychologists, doctors, scientists, and religious leaders from all over the world were consulted and chosen to sit on the council that would govern the new city. The new city would be built as far away as possible from the impact.

Geologists called this location the antipode, from the Greek word antipodes, anti meaning opposite and podes meaning foot. Two points that are antipodal to each other are joined by a straight line running through the center of the earth. Noon in one location is midnight in the other location. Summer in one location is winter in the opposite location. The impact was predicted to be in the farthest point to the south, near Antarctica. Antarctica’s antipodal point, which is farthest north, is Alaska. The city was named Antipodes.

A twenty-year window didn’t allow for long debates. Resources had to be directed first to food, water, and energy. After little argument, a resolution was agreed upon—there would be no military equipment or formal military branch in Antipodes. There was no enemy to defend against. Basic weaponry would only include what was necessary for survival, hunting, and simple protection in the wilderness of Alaska. Rifles, shotguns, and bows would suffice. A small police force was formed on a voluntary basis and was overseen by the council.

Massive fields were cultivated to feed one million people, and energy was accomplished through nuclear power, as melting snow was redirected to cool the conductors. Finally, two other domes were built, connected to each other with an L-shaped corridor.

The dome dedicated to farming and livestock was referred to as the Farm. The Farm housed an equestrian center for boarding five hundred horses to be used in the aftermath of Toutatis. Fuel was too precious to be consumed for scouting missions or basic transportation outside the dome. Decades or centuries could pass before the new world would have adequate sources of energy.

The horse chosen for Antipodes was the Percheron, a medieval war horse, suitable for cold climates and forest work. These horses could be bred to the lighter draft horses to produce greater height and power.

The other dome was built to house huge amounts of storage for future colonization and expansion. This dome, called the Mill, included prefabricated structures to be reassembled for the manufacturing of basic needs, clothing, and dry goods. The citizens of Antipodes were required to spend one week per month learning the basics of animal husbandry, farming, and equestrian skills at the Farm and the Mill.

Judah took the pen from his inkwell and opened his journal to write a note, reflecting his mood in the final hour: Twenty years ago, the only sound to be heard in this solitary place was the bellow of a bull elk. Now the whole world will be gathered here, under a glass sky and the invisible watch of a heavenly eye.

Colin and Elizabeth spent their last days together walking through the deserted mountains. Even the wildlife had gone underground or found ways to hibernate and wait out the disaster; maybe the animals knew it was the end for human life, but they had made their own shelters, as if instinct had turned to hope.

The air is so clean and beautiful up here, said Elizabeth. I love you, Colin.

I love you, Elizabeth.

Now all of the earth was empty, and darkness was over the surface of the deep, but the Spirit of God was alive in His people, and there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

Chapter 4

If Christ now returned to the world he would perhaps not be put to death, but would be ridiculed. This is martyrdom in the age of reason.

—Soren Kierkegaard

A long the sidewalks, trees and grass were bordered by orange lantana and the California poppy. From the inside, Antipodes looked like no other city, truly a wonder of the new world. Large clusters of mist floated high above the floor, creating the illusion of clouds floating in an infinite sky.

The citizens were distracted by an outward show of nature, but they struggled to forget they were living under a glass ceiling and they alone survived. Ten years after the impact, the sky outside remained overcast, and the shield had not been opened for fear of allowing dust and unknown particles to fill the dome. The council began to meet more often, not the usual weekly meetings, but sometimes two or three times a week. Many of their sessions were open to the public, but when the frequency of the meetings increased, the doors were shut.

Years before the council was chosen, there was a general sentiment among world leaders that religion should have no part in Antipodes. Their proposals to eliminate religious projects were voted down many times by their constituents, but the religious population chosen for Antipodes knew their beliefs were at risk, in spite of their Pyrrhic victories.

There was a great deal of unrest after the impact. The reality of losing millions of loved ones had settled in, and the more fundamentalist Christians wasted no time proclaiming that the end times had arrived. Some argued it was the beginning of the millennium, the thousand-year reign of Christ on earth. Civil disobedience throughout the city erupted every day, and many times huge rallies were held by church leaders to encourage protest against government leaders who were vocally anti-Christian.

Tudor-style buildings in England began in response to the Black Death. The fortified facade brought a sense of comfort and stability to a people who had been overcome by the death and devastation of the plague.

The government buildings in Antipodes reflected this style as well, with heavy timber-lined ceilings and steep gabled roofs. As in all the buildings, much of the material was shipped in whole pieces to be reconstructed from famous landmarks throughout the world.

Psychologists had warned that the populace of Antipodes would long for depth and roots after the impact and would be lost in an ultramodern setting.

When opening the heavy wooden door of the council meeting hall, one expected to see a monarch rather than a boardroom made up of scholars and scientists.

As president, Jeba sat at the head of the conference table, his olive-colored hands folded in front of him, contrasting sharply with the white marble. Jeba had the look of a polished CEO who had honed his powers of concentration, and he could easily read a room.

His slicked-back gray hair was complemented by the black-rimmed reading glasses he peered over as he surveyed the room. He conducted the meeting more like a head of business rather than the leader of a chosen people. He spoke to the council about his long-term vision for Antipodes.

We can no longer tolerate a society of fanatics, no matter how traditional their beliefs were in the old world. We will not let Antipodes become a medieval society that doesn’t embrace modernity, science, and technology. We were chosen to write a new history of the world. We will refer to the old world as Antiqua, reflecting many of the antiquated religious views of the age. The new age will be called Nova. Nova will exhibit the ideas and philosophies of man’s intellect and reason. Long-term we can only prosper if we are a curious people with reason as our guide.

I agree, Mr. President, said Cornelius, a respected scientist on the council. But what do you plan to do—throw the lunatics out in the wilderness of Alaska and let them freeze to death?

Cornelius had a way of getting to the point and speaking what everyone else was thinking, but his bony nose and thin black mustache were off-putting to his audience.

Are you pretending I’m not sitting here, gentlemen? asked Henry, a professing Christian and head of the philosophy department at the University of Antipodes.

He projected the consummate professor: somewhat disheveled brown hair, complete with oval eyeglasses and a regimental silk bow tie. Henry was broad at the shoulders and a man of modest height, but his long waist and leggy frame gave him a conspicuously taller appearance; he always stood before he spoke. He was educated in England before coming to the United States and had qualified as a scholar for the lottery. He became a Christian only a few years after entering Antipodes, a member of Judah’s flock.

Come now, Henry, you of all people know religion has done nothing but slow intellectual thinking and curiosity, continued Jeba.

With respect, Jeba, it doesn’t really matter what you and I believe. What matters is the fact that we have knowledgeable scientists, doctors, and teachers whom you would call fanatical because of their faith. Do you mean to throw them out too? said Henry.

Henry, you are a perfect example of what happens to reasonable people under duress. You came here a very accomplished scholar, and now you’ve subjected your whole family to this nonsense about the second coming of Jesus Christ! For God’s sake, Marx was right: religion is the opium of the people, exclaimed Cornelius.

Henry continued; Marx also said religion is the heart of a heartless world. Is that the kind of world you are prepared to live in?

Well, at least you don’t really believe it, boasted Cornelius.

I did not say that. I said reasonable people should consider the benefits of religion—whether they believe it or not. Didn’t Jeba just say we should be a people who embrace reason?

I don’t want to get into a philosophical argument about the pros and cons of religion. The fact of the matter is that the Christians are disrupting our affairs and it is not acceptable, said Jeba.

Cornelius’s temper began to show through his glassy black eyes. Maybe your messianic rabbi would like to lead them into the wilderness, he said, referring to Judah.

Calm down. We are not proposing to throw anyone out in the cold, and no one will be heartless in the matter. This meeting is adjourned, concluded Jeba.

Jeba had suppressed his jealousy of Judah deep into the vacant alcoves of his soul, where over time, an abscess formed, slowly leaking a venomous strain of revenge into his thoughts and actions, subtle at first, unnoticed even by himself, like when he dismissed Judah as a delusional and messianic rabbi. But as more time passed, the poison numbed Jeba to the darker and more sinister ways he plotted against Judah.

Chapter 5

A short and balding man, Judah was an oddity of sorts, the incarnation of an apostle of Jesus, personified by his calling as a simple fisherman, albeit the scholarly and often unreserved intellectual.

Raised in a Jewish home, he attended synagogue regularly, mastering both Aramaic and Hebrew. But his grandmother was left to put the finishing touches on his education when his parents divorced, and she converted to Christianity. She talked to him about Rabbi Yeshua, as she called Jesus, the Messiah, and how only Yeshua could give his life purpose.

As a young man attending university, he came across a New Testament and opened to Galatians, chapter three, verse thirteen: Christ redeemed us from the curse of the Law, having become a curse for us-for it is written, Cursed is everyone who hangs on a tree." After reading those words, he believed God was speaking directly to him. He realized God loved him and had rescued him from the Mosaic law by fulfilling it himself, through Jesus. He knew the law had no power to save and had never given him real purpose. At that moment he began to thank Rabbi Yeshua for suffering in his place. From then on, Judah devoted his life to Christ, and started to memorize the whole New Testament to show his gratitude.

The oral tradition of the Talmud had been his favorite study in Hebrew, and now he could apply the same discipline to his newfound faith. He left the university and went to work as a fisherman, eventually purchasing the boat from the owner. He wanted to work with his hands and free his mind for the memorizing of Scripture.

The journey had been long from a Christian Jew on a fishing boat to pastor of the largest protestant church in Antipodes, appropriately named First Protestant.

Judah had become especially close to Benjamin and Mary, and they invited him to their home in Antipodes every Sunday night for dinner. On one particular night, they sat for their usual meal of lamb and sweet potatoes Mary had raised and grown for her family on the Farm.

Benjamin and Mary’s home was furnished by Mary’s family and full of old-world furniture from her childhood home in Holland. Flow-blue plates adorned the walls of the dining room, splashed with faded scenes of windmills and tulip fields. Heavy curtains of tapestry decorated the windows running the full length of the house, and the wide, antique-pine floors Mary grew up with provided a familiar anchor to her new surroundings under the dome.

Judah, some of the congregation think your theology is all wrong. They think the asteroid is just the beginning of the end, and they believe they will be rescued, or to use their word, raptured, before anything else happens, said Mary.

I think you mean his eschatology is wrong, don’t you? inserted Benjamin.

Actually Mary is closer to the truth; it’s not possible to have a correct understanding of God, theology if you will, without a proper understanding of eschatology. The study of the end times is all about how we live now, about the divine consummation of our redemption, said Judah as he pushed his empty coffee cup toward Benjamin, who was pouring himself a fresh cup from the porcelain pitcher.

But some actually believe the Bible teaches Jesus is coming again in the future, said Mary, as she began to collect the dishes from the table.

I know they do, and I pray they’ll be able to keep their wits about them when they learn He’s not.

"I’m more concerned about their apathy. Everyone is going to have to work together to keep the city running and the community we’ve established for our support. The last