Ezekiel’s Prophecy and the Pulse of the Present

א וַיְהִי דְבַר־יְהוָה אֵלַי לֵאמֹר׃”
ב בֶּן־אָדָם שִׂים פָּנֶיךָ אֶל־גּוֹג אֶרֶץ הַמָּגוֹג נְשִׂיא רֹאשׁ מֶשֶׁךְ וְתֻבָל וְהִנָּבֵא עָלָיו׃
ג וְאָמַרְתָּ כֹּה אָמַר אֲדֹנָי יְהוִה הִנְנִי אֵלֶיךָ גּוֹג נְשִׂיא רֹאשׁ מֶשֶׁךְ וְתֻבָל׃
ד וְשׁוֹבַבְתִּיךָ וְנָתַתִּי חַחִים בִּלְחָיֶיךָ וְהוֹצֵאתִיךָ וְאֵת כָּל־חֵילֶךָ סוּסִים וּפָרָשִׁים לְבֻשֵׁי מִכְלוֹל קוֹל רָכֶב קֶשֶׁת וּמָגֵן תֹּפֵשׂ חֲנִית כֻּלָּם׃
ה פָּרַס כּוּשׁ וּפוּט אִתָּם כֻּלָּם מָגֵן וְכוֹבָע׃
ו גֹּמֶר וְכָל־אֲגַפֶּיהָ בֵּית תֹּגַרְמָה יַרְכְּתֵי צָפוֹן וְאֶת־כָּל־אֲגַפֶּיהָ עַמִּים רַבִּים אִתָּךְ׃”

“1 And the word of the Lord came to me, saying:
2 “Son of man, set your face toward Gog of the land of Magog, the chief prince of Meshech and Tubal, and prophesy against him.
3 And say: Thus says the Lord GOD: Behold, I am against you, O Gog, chief prince of Meshech and Tubal.
4 I will turn you around, put hooks in your jaws, and bring you out with all your army—horses and horsemen, all of them splendidly clothed, a great company with buckler and shield, all of them handling swords.
5 Persia, Cush, and Put are with them, all of them with shield and helmet.
6 Gomer and all its troops; the house of Togarmah from the uttermost parts of the north and all its troops—many peoples with you.”

~ Ezekiel 38:1–6

The prophet Ezekiel, in chapters 38 and 39, envisions a storm unlike any other—a vast confederacy of nations descending upon Israel “in the latter days,” led by a mysterious figure named Gog, “of the land of Magog, the prince of Meshech and Tubal.” This apocalyptic vision, set “from the uttermost north,” has stirred imaginations for millennia, but its weight lies not in fantasy. It is a cosmic drama of pride and downfall, divine revelation and human blindness—one whose stage may once again be assembling.

To trace the outlines of Gog’s coalition in modern terms, we begin with Magog, the land from which Gog arises. Jewish tradition—particularly from the medieval chronicle Yosippon and echoed by later commentators—identifies Magog with the tribes of the far north, in the lands beyond the Black Sea. Today, that would place Magog within the sphere of Russia and the Eurasian steppe. The text’s mention of the “uttermost north” supports this, as Jerusalem lies almost directly south of Moscow. Whether in prophetic vision or geopolitical strategy, Russia looms as a northern power—massive, militarized, and deeply involved in the Middle East.

Alongside Magog, Ezekiel lists Meshech and Tubal, ancient names referring to Anatolian peoples. Their territories correlate geographically to modern-day Turkey, particularly its eastern and central regions. In prophetic language, these names symbolize not just a country, but a bridge—between East and West, Islam and secularism, NATO and regional ambition. Today’s Turkey, oscillating between its Western alliances and Eastern affinities, mirrors the unstable identity of Meshech and Tubal—ancient warriors on shifting ground.

Ezekiel continues: Gomer and Beth-Togarmah, names that once marked the wild frontiers north of Israel, home to the Cimmerians and other warlike peoples of the Caucasus and Asia Minor. These names have long been associated with Armenia, Georgia, and greater Anatolia. In modern geography, this draws a rough arc from eastern Turkey into the Caucasus—territories that form the fault lines between civilizations, where the tectonic plates of empire and memory grind together.

He also names Persia, unequivocally understood as modern-day Iran, which even in Ezekiel’s time was a formidable eastern empire. Persia’s inclusion in the Gogian alliance is striking in its clarity. Unlike some of the more cryptic tribal names, Persia’s identity is fixed, and its enmity toward Israel in various historical epochs is well known. Today, Iran’s regional ambitions, military entrenchment in Syria, and explicit ideological opposition to the state of Israel cast an ominous echo of Ezekiel’s list. That Ezekiel saw Persia as part of this final northern confederation gives pause—not because the prophet names modern politics, but because he reveals spiritual patterns that repeat through time.

But perhaps most provocative is the phrase repeated several times in Ezekiel’s vision: “and many peoples with you.” This is no isolated invasion—it is a coalition, global in scope, motivated by power, greed, and something deeper: the desire to displace divine sovereignty with human pride. It is here that modern interpreters have, cautiously, looked eastward—toward powers not explicitly named, but possibly implied. Among these, China looms large: a superpower distant yet increasingly entangled in global diplomacy, resource control, artificial intelligence, and ideological counterbalance to the West. While China is never named in Scripture, its emergence as a central player in world affairs places it plausibly among the “many peoples” who come not for justice, but for dominion.

And so, in this ancient prophecy, we see a coalition form — Iran, Russia, Turkey, nations of the Caucasus, and unnamed eastern giants—converging not only on the land of Israel, but on the very concept of a world ordered by righteousness. Their war is not only geopolitical; it is metaphysical. “You will think an evil thought,” Ezekiel says of Gog. “I will go up against a land of unwalled villages…” This is not a war of survival, but of domination. The enemy is not just Israel—it is the covenant, the holiness of limits, the rebuke to empire that Jerusalem represents.

Yet Ezekiel is not a prophet of despair. His vision climaxes not in the triumph of the aggressors, but in their ruin—and the global revelation that follows.

“And I will magnify Myself and sanctify Myself, and I will make Myself known in the eyes of many nations; and they shall know that I am the Lord.”
— Ezekiel 38:23

This is the heart of the matter. Gog, in all his armor and alliances, rides toward his own unmaking. His path leads to a valley filled with bones—not Israel’s, but his own. Fire falls not on the righteous but on the proud. And through this collapse, the world sees what it had refused to learn in peace: that no tower of Babel, no empire, no algorithm or army can usurp the moral order encoded in the soul of creation.

What does this mean for us, now?

The alliances hinted at in Ezekiel’s vision—Russia’s entanglements in the Middle East, Turkey’s dual allegiances, China’s rising influence, and the quiet convergence of forces hostile to spiritual sovereignty—are no longer theoretical. They are daily headlines, quiet tremors beneath the feet of nations. The temptation is to read Ezekiel as a map, to match his names to military coalitions and await the sirens. But that would be to miss the deeper truth.

Ezekiel is not teaching political analysis; he is unveiling spiritual patterns. Wherever arrogance joins with force, wherever pride rides at the head of conquest, wherever the vulnerable are trampled and the holy mocked—there Gog rides again. And wherever a remnant remembers, weeps, and waits—there redemption still breathes.

We are not called to panic, but to prepare: not just with bunkers and maps (though certainly these are necessary), but with humility, with teshuvah, with truth. The storm may come. But it comes to cleanse, not to destroy. And those who stand in Jerusalem—not merely the city, but the vision of peace built upon justice—will see the whirlwind pass, and the light rise, not over empires, but over hearts made ready.