Journey to Antipodes

Chapter 1
Ignorance is a great barrier to godliness
Origen
His 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 upwards 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 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’s 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
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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.”
“Goodnight Judah.”
Judah’s paneled study of reclaimed Birchwood 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 a cabinet, dating to the Edwardian era, and crafted
from English mahogany, he took out a bottle of wine sent to
him from an old friend in Italy. Blowing the dust off the label,
he grabbed a wine glass sitting on a silver tray, placed squarely
on a Louis XVI leather desk top.
“I think now is the perfect time to enjoy this fine Barolo,
my friend,” he spoke to the empty and worn out seat of the red
velvet Queen Anne chair across from his desk, while polishing
3
Jay Bugg
the crystal with the smooth frayed edge of his jacket sleeve.
Christaldo, his roommate in seminary, had sent Judah a
bottle the day he moved to Antipodes. He knew he was too
old to be chosen, but he was reassured from God he needed to
stay with his congregation in the mountains of Italy. Antipode’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.” Then he took a corkscrew from the
middle drawer of his desk—as if this was 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 somber 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 take-off.” 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 grey sky.
“Where is he?”
The pilot looked confused. “Where is who?”
“God.”
Colin’s faith was outnumbered 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
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planned by a deity or was God even paying attention?
The clouds of distrust began to soak up his well-rehearsed
apologetic 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 pre-historic 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 the 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, he 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?”