Latest news with #Christ
Time of India
2 hours ago
- Business
- Time of India
Govts urged to enable ethical AI ecosystems
Bengaluru: Paving the way for the adoption of ethical AI ecosystems in upskilling of students, the consul general of the Republic of Korea in Chennai, Chang-Nyun Kim, on Tuesday said, "Govts must now act not only as regulators but also as facilitators and enablers of ethical AI ecosystems — ensuring inclusion, equity, and readiness for the changing job landscape. " He was speaking at the Indo-Korea International Conference, organised by Christ deemed-to-be University here. The 5th edition of the conference brought together over 50 delegates from South Korea and India. The conference also hosted an Indo-Korea AI film festival where AI-themed projects such as Eddington, Gulliver in Yuldo, Silk Road Man Marco Polo, Me with the King Kempegowda, and The Rude Upstairs Neighbour were screened. A series of focused panel discussions was held that brought together academicians, policymakers, and developers on key themes around AI. You Can Also Check: Bengaluru AQI | Weather in Bengaluru | Bank Holidays in Bengaluru | Public Holidays in Bengaluru
GMA Network
6 hours ago
- Climate
- GMA Network
QC churches opens doors to evacuees affected by inclement weather
Some Catholic churches in Quezon City provided temporary shelters to evacuees affected by the bad weather brought by the Southwest Monsoon (Habagat). In a social media post, the Diocese of Cubao said the following churches opened their doors to evacuees: Holy Family Parish - Roxas San Antonio de Padua Parish Basilica Minore de San Pedro Bautista Minor Basilica of the National Shrine of Our Lady of Mount Carmel Immaculate Heart of Mary Parish 'As the community faces this difficult time, our Church remains a refuge, offering shelter, comfort, and the loving presence of Christ through its people,' the Diocese of Cubao said. Evacuees were also provided food, water, clothing, and sleeping materials. The Quezon City local government unit earlier declared a state of calamity amid the downpour brought by the Habagat. Floods and heavy traffic were observed in Metro Manila due to the continuous rain, including in Quezon City, where trash covered the flooded areas on G. Araneta Avenue, A. Bonifacio Avenue, and Quezon Avenue going to E. Rodriguez Avenue. — BAP, GMA Integrated News
The Spinoff
2 days ago
- Business
- The Spinoff
We keep measuring the Māori economy – but what are we actually counting?
New report after new report declares the growth and potential of the Māori economy. But what even is it, and why do we keep measuring it? Last week, yet another report was released outlining the prowess and potential of the Māori economy. 'The 'Māori economy' is thriving and diversifying,' the report from WEAll Aotearoa begins, following with many impressive figures and statistics: 'contribution of $32 billion… asset base of $126bn'. So what are these numbers, how are they measured, and what purpose does dissecting and analysing the Māori economy as a standalone sector of our capitalist system serve? What even is the Māori economy? Honestly, I couldn't tell you. In its most recent report on the Māori economy released earlier this year, Te Ōhanga Māori 2023 – The Māori Economy Report 2023, the Ministry of Business, Innovation, and Employment states: 'Te Ōhanga Māori is not always a separate, distinct, and clearly identifiable segment of the Aotearoa New Zealand economy.' From what I gather, what we now call the 'Māori economy' was born not from Māori, but from a colonial lens – one that separated Māori economic activity from the broader economy of Aotearoa. Before colonisation, however, the Māori economy was the entire economy of Aotearoa. We cultivated and traded internationally, maintained thriving markets with our Pacific neighbours, and by the 1800s, were actively bartering with European and American markets. There's a quote from Mānuka Henare that often gets missed in these debates. He reminded us that the artistic flourishing of the 16th-18th centuries – the carving, weaving and tattooing – didn't come from scarcity. It came from a dynamic, thriving Māori economy. A creative economy rooted in relationships, surplus, and time to think, carve and dream. And then came colonisation… Bingo. Mass disruption and dispossession completely changed the face of the Māori economy. Christ came alongside capitalism – monocultural capitalism, to be exact. For the most part, Māori were excluded from participating in the settler economy, except as low-paid labour. The wealth of the British Crown in New Zealand was essentially built on the back of stolen resources and slave labour. This depleted the Māori economy of its capitalistic wealth. The cultural wealth of Māori was also severely depleted through tools of colonisation. Laws encouraging assimilation and prohibiting Māori from speaking our language and carrying out cultural practices amounted to cultural genocide. A majority of the Māori population was forced to shift to urban areas during the 1950s to the 1970s, taking wage labour jobs and being disconnected from whenua or collective models. During this time, Māori economic power was deliberately undermined. The Crown's policy was to assimilate Māori socially, politically and economically – not to support indigenous enterprise. Clearly things have changed. In the 1970s, we witnessed what's known as the 'Māori renaissance'. A key part of this was the establishment of the Waitangi Tribunal and the treaty claims process. The first claim to be settled was the Māori Fisheries claim, also known as the Sealord Deal. This provided an economic basis for iwi authorities to begin rebuilding their economic wealth, albeit under a Crown-controlled capitalist model. Other large-scale settlements such as Ngāi Tahu and Waikato-Tainui provided iwi with capital and assets, although this was a comparatively minuscule amount compared to the total value of loss. However, this led to many iwi creating commercial entities like Ngāi Tahu Holdings and Tainui Group Holdings, which reinvested in property, farming, tourism, infrastructure and finance. These entities are often what gets counted in Māori economy stats today, via Māori authorities. So the Māori economy is just measuring how well settled entities are doing? Seems a bit narrow. Yes, for the most part. In 2002, the IRD introduced a tax rate specific to Māori authorities, aiming to modernise the tax rules for organisations managing Maori assets held in communal ownership. In 2012, Stats NZ began defining and measuring 'Māori authorities' – the entities that form the core of the so-called 'Māori economy'. This legally recognises post-settlement governance entities – not pakihi Māori. This is one reason the data often skews toward iwi corporations and not the thousands of small Māori-owned businesses or social enterprises. What was the point of measuring this data in the first place, especially with such a narrow scope? A friend half-jokingly said to me it's to illustrate how Māori are leeching from the Crown – as crude as it might sound, there is some truth in this statement. The state wanted to understand how the capital being returned to Māori via the settlement process was being used, how it might contribute to national GDP and how Māori entities could be integrated into broader economic policy and investment. Arguably, the Crown began tracking these measures to make Māori legible to the state – easier to understand, manage, and control – first through tax and compliance, then through economic policy, and now through investment lenses. It began as a state-driven interest in managing, taxing and tracking Māori collectives post-settlement. However, it has since evolved into a strategic economic conversation, which Māori are increasingly reframing to reflect kaupapa Māori values, collective aspirations and indigenous economic thinking. And what is it actually telling us? That we're outside the general economy? There is an argument that by measuring the Māori economy, we're saying we need to be tracked separately because we're not good enough to stand on equal footing. Personally, I don't buy the warm fuzzy intent. As mentioned above, I suspect it started as a way to quantify what Māori were 'costing' the nation – to calculate the burden, not the benefit. Even now, those numbers get weaponised: 'Look how wealthy Māori are. Why do they still need support?' It's a setup and it flattens the story. Success in a few iwi boardrooms does not always trickle down to every whānau struggling with rent in Māngere or Moerewa. Worse still, when handled carelessly, these metrics can reinforce the ceiling. They frame success as: 'That's a great Māori business,' instead of just, 'that's a great business.' As stated in the WEAll Aotearoa report released this week, 'too often the success of Māori businesses is conflated with the Māori economy, when it is more appropriately conceptualised as Māori businesses operating within a global capitalist economy.' But there are economic benefits to measuring this data, right? Progressive procurement policies, legislative support for indigenous businesses, etc. Yes – there are some real benefits, but they depend on how we measure. To truly deliver, data must be disaggregated – by region, by business type, and by iwi lineage – so we understand the diversity within Māori enterprise. Māori must be empowered to define what counts as success – both profit and wellbeing, GDP and cultural strength. To drive real change, we need public/private partnerships to fund business support, procurement pathways, and legislation shaped by Māori data. Measuring the Māori economy enables DEI strategies, justifies indigenous business support, fosters inclusive economic development, strengthens infrastructure, and reveals systemic gaps. But it only works when Māori are designing and owning the data narrative. The data has helped some of us unlock capital, attract co-investment, and push for equity in government policy. Measurement, if wielded wisely, can be a tool for mana motuhake.
National Geographic
5 days ago
- General
- National Geographic
Nun's skeleton reveals that some ancient women were extreme hermits
Head of a holy woman, from a mosaic in Turkey. Photograph By Bridgeman Images Today the most extreme forms of devotion to God in Christianity involve tithing, abstaining from meat on Fridays and during Lent, taking religious orders and devoting oneself to a life of celibacy, and, perhaps, taking vows of poverty or even silence. All of these practices pale next to the forms of asceticism practiced in the Byzantine period, when the most dedicated monks isolated themselves from human contact in the desert, restricted their food and sleep, wrapped themselves in uncomfortable sore-inducing chains, and lived their lives on top of small pillars. Traditionally, the most hardcore ascetics were believed to have been men, but recent scholarly and archeological research has revealed that female monastics were equally devoted to self-mortification. In 1924, excavations at Khirbat el-Masaniʾ near Ramat Shlomo (in Israel) uncovered a Byzantine monastery dating to approximately 350–650 CE. Located just three kilometers northwest of Old Jerusalem, the monastery stood along one of the main roads leading from Jaffa and Lydda to the city. Among the tombs discovered at the site were the remains of an unidentified individual unusually wrapped in a metal chain. During the fifth century CE, as Christian monasticism was on the rise, the practice of self-chaining gained popularity among ascetics in Syria. Asceticism and bodily self-denial was seen as a way of emulating the suffering of Christ and drawing closer to God. At the time the tombs were excavated, it was widely believed that such ascetic practices were exclusive to men. So for nearly a century, scholars assumed this person had been male. However, a recent study employing advanced DNA analysis has revealed that the remains belonged to a woman. This would make this one of the first-ever archaeological finds of extreme asceticism among Byzantine women. (Eight things people get wrong about ancient Rome) Byzantine-style mosaic of the Garden of Eden, part of the Old Testament cycle from the Monreale Cathedral Mosaics in Palermo, Siciliy. The Latin inscription reads, MULIER SUGGESTIONI SERPENTIS TULIT DE FRUCTU ET COMEDIT DEDITQUE VIRO SUO ('At the serpent's suggestion, the woman picked the fruit and ate it, and gave it to the man.') Photograph By Ghigo Roli / Bridgeman Images Byzantine churches were often decorated with shimmering mosaics, portraying events from the life of Christ on their upper walls. This fragmentary head of Christ, with its caring expression, is probably from such a scene. Photograph By Gift of Mary Jaharis, in memory of her late husband, Michael, 2017, The Metropolitan Museum of Art A self-tormenting nun During the original excavation of Khirbat el-Masaniʾ, archaeologists uncovered two crypts containing scattered skeletal remains of multiple individuals—including children, women, and men. Based on the grave goods, burial context, and stratigraphy, these interments were dated to the fifth century CE. A third tomb, which held the highly fragmentary remains of the chained individual, was also discovered. At the time, the bones were too incomplete to determine the individual's sex or age at death. But this spring, a team of Israeli researchers, led by archeological scientists Dr. Paula Kotli from the Weizmann Institute of Science, finally pinned down an identity. By conducting a proteomic analysis on enamel obtained from the only tooth recovered from the tomb, the team determined that burial belonged to an adult aged between 30 and 60 years old at the time of their death. The results, published in the Journal of Archaeological Science, proved that the individual buried in chains in tomb three was actually a woman. As the authors note, 'the ascetic nun symbolizes a phenomenon of isolation, perhaps enclosure, and in extreme cases self-torment. This is the first evidence showing that the Byzantine self-torment ritual was performed by women and not exclusively by men.' The discovery marks a significant advance in the methods used to determine sex in fragmentary remains. Yet, evidence for asceticism among late antique women is more widespread than one might assume. (Christianity struggled to grow—until this skeptic became a believer) Detail of the 'Procession of Virgins' mosaics from the Basilica of Sant'Apollinare Nuovo in Ravenna, Byzantine School, 6th century. Photograph By Leemage/Corbis/Getty Images Dr. Caroline Schroeder, Professor of Women's and Gender Studies and Professor of Data Scholarship at the University of Oklahoma and author of several pioneering studies on monasticism, told National Geographic, 'in late antiquity and Byzantium, people of all genders engaged in a wide variety of ascetic practices. In Egypt in the fourth and fifth centuries we have irrefutable evidence from papyri, monastic letters, and episcopal writings for women who practiced asceticism in their family homes, in homes they themselves owned or rented, and in communities of women [monasteries].' In general, asceticism meant abstaining from sex (even if married), limiting one's food intake, withdrawing from the world, rigorous engagement with prayer, and a life of discomfort and seclusion. These practices were not limited to Egypt. In Syria, we have copious evidence documenting what might be considered more extreme forms of asceticism. Schroeder mentioned a ninth-century male monk who described a women's monastery he encountered where residents lived in seclusion as stylites. Stylites 'were monks who lived for years atop a tall pillar, often exposed to nature's elements and totally dependent upon people on the ground to provide them with food and water,' Schroeder explained. 'The most famous is the original stylite, Symeon the Elder, who lived on his pillar for 36 years, praying, doing prostrations and other exercises, and experiencing physical decay. People came from all over for his blessings, to hear his preaching, and also to request his judgments in disputes between individuals and political leaders.' Stylites were physically constrained by the pillars—they were not able to stretch out fully, there were no bathroom breaks (which caused quite a stench), and they were exposed to the elements—and they also survived on limited sustenance and without the comfort of companionship. Schroeder pointed out that 'a monastery with women stylites is evidence that some women practiced as physically rigorous and severe asceticism as men.' With respect to the new study of the chained woman from outside Jerusalem, Schroeder pointed to an example recorded by fifth-century CE theologian Theodoret of Cyrrhus in his Religious History. In this collection of saint's lives, Theodoret describes visiting two Syriac sisters, Marana and Cyra, who wore heavy iron rings and chains as a form of extreme self-denial. According to Theodoret, these women lived in a roofless house—that exposed them to the unforgiving elements—the door of which had been sealed with mud and stones so that they were shut off from the world and unable to leave. Small windows allowed for food and water to be passed to the women. (Schroeder told me that Theodoret says that, since he was a bishop, they allowed him to dig through the door to see them.) The women wore iron collars, iron belts, and chains on their hands and feet. Even though the two women were secluded from the world, they, like Symeon the Stylite, became ancient Christian celebrities. They attracted pilgrims who travelled to receive their blessing. Saint Donatus, priest and anchorite, from "Les Images De Tous Les Saincts et Saintes de L'Année" (Images of All of the Saints and Religious Events of the Year.) Print By Jacques Callot , The Metropolitan Museum of Art Gender is a complicating question when it comes to asceticism because some women dressed as men when they entered monasteries. Dr. Christine Luckritz Marquis, Associate Professor of Church History at Union Presbyterian Seminary and author of 'Better Off Dead? Violence, Women, and Late Ancient Asceticism,' said 'the reality is that we have many individuals who were trans saints. While some women might merely dress as male monks to safely practice asceticism among men, there is no reason to believe that others did not truly feel themselves trans monks. And some men were castrated, becoming eunuchs for God, so they too did not fit into a simple two-sex binary.' The more fluid gender categories were complicated by the ambivalent attitude that male religious leaders had toward women in general. For commentators like Theodoret, Schroeder added, ascetic women were 'a bit of a paradox… On the one hand, women were viewed as inherently weaker than men and also the gender that carried the guilt of Eve for breaking God's command in the Garden of Eden. But on the other hand, they were capable of such strenuous devotions and, when they achieved them, were seen as even extra holy for going beyond the expectations of their gender.' An anchorhold against the south wall of All Saints church in Norfolk, United Kingdom. Built circa 1500 CE, it would have housed an anchorite devoted to solitary prayer. Photograph By UrbanImages/ Alamy From late antiquity onwards, into the medieval period, women's asceticism persisted. Anchorites—men and women who walled themselves up in permanent enclosures in lifelong solitary confinement—became more common among European women. Many of them lived in small cells, known as anchorholds, that were attached to local churches. In German-speaking regions, bishops would say the office for the dead as the anchorite entered their cell as a symbol of the ascetic's death to the world. Though small windows allowed them a limited view of the church's altar and access to food, water and the Eucharist, anchorites took vows to remain in their cells. The eleventh-century hagiographer Goscelin of Saint-Bertin refers to several anchorites who burned—or came close to burning—alive when the towns in which they lived in were sacked or looted. Other women embraced physical suffering an illness. In her book Holy Feast and Holy Fast, Caroline Walker Bynum documents the centrality of pain and illness to the spiritual lives of late medieval women. For those women even self-inflicted illness was a way of drawing near to God. Bynum writes that 'some Italian saints drank pus or scabs from lepers' sores.' In the German Nonnenbücher, a fourteenth-century collection of inspirational spiritual biographies of nuns authored by women, the desire for illness was so strong that the sisters exposed themselves 'to bitter cold' and prayed 'to be afflicted with leprosy.' The late fourteenth century, French anchoress Jane Mary of Maillé, 'stuck a thorn into her head in remembrance of Christ's crown of thorns.' As late as the sixteenth century, an account of the life of St. Alda of Siena recalled that she slept on a bed of paving stones, whipped herself with chains, and wore a crown of thorns. 'Among the more bizarre female behaviors' in this period, writes Bynum, 'were rolling in broken glass, jumping into ovens, hanging from a gibbet, and praying upside down.' For modern readers the critical question is why late antique people would want to engage in these practices of self-punishment and self-effacement at all. Theodoret characterizes Marana and Cyra's ascetic devotion as a kind of spiritual athleticism. Schroeder explained that the women took on these goals 'on these challenging practices with joy, knowing that the 'goal' or prize of their contests is a 'crown of victory' and eternity with Christ their 'beloved.'' Luckritz Marquis agreed, saying that while there were many reasons that people practiced asceticism, the goal was 'ultimately to be closer to God.'
Metro
6 days ago
- General
- Metro
Priest quits with sassy poem lashing out at his congregation
Well, that's one way to make an exit. A parish priest has written one hell of a farewell letter after stepping down from the Holy Family Catholic Church in Coventry after nine years. And he's hit out at 'unfriendly' parishioners giving him 'disdainful' looks and 'tutting for a living'. Father Pat Brennan runs a blog called Humble Piety and has uploaded several poems, prayers and other pieces since 2008. But his poem called 'Not I Lord Surely!' has suggested the number of people attending his church, which has gradually dwindled over the years, could be due to 'gossiping' parishioners. He announced in the church newsletter that he will be leaving his post after nine years – but will continue as parish priest at two other churches. Father Brennan was ordained as a priest in Birmingham in 1992. In the church newsletter he said he was leaving the parish with many fond memories, adding: 'You can't please all the people and those few who have been vocal in criticism in and outside of the parish, have contributed to my leaving. 'Despite those few, I will keep the fondest memories in my heart and am grateful to have been parish priest here at Holy Family.' He also added: 'I was very happy at Holy Family and had the privilege of meeting so many wonderful people. 'I am proud of how the church looks now, visitors have spoken of a restoration of dignity. 'The Covid times opened the parish up to many others taking comfort watching the liturgy and being uplifted at that time, staying with us online since then. 'This is not an easy vocation, so the promise of prayers, the love and support given, does encourage greatly these who answer the call to follow Christ in the priesthood.' What makes people not come to church? Could it be the people who already go? The righteous, the clique, the worthy, the disdainful look given, the thought you're in my seat the unfriendly, so that the stranger remains so. Gossip flows from holy lips, a hobby to talk about so and so, you know? A mix of disgruntled, unlikeable, entitled offended, who don't want to know Better than you, holier too, tutting for a living, whispering about you know who… Did you ever go inside and wish you hadn't arrived The words of love conveniently ignored A plethora of benches occupied by the weekly bored What makes people not come to church? The cold indifference and quiet distain of those who already go. If your first instinct when you hear the words 'Go in peace' is time for war Then think again, ask am I the reason people flee, am I to blame, is it me? Not I surely? So not quite the whole story. Just don't make it so Continue to go, but in Christ's likeness grow. Rejected… this is how for some it can feel. Yet each person who steps inside should be… Welcomed, accepted, loved, forgiven, this is the mark of the Lord's own seal. What makes people stay and not run away? Hearing Christ's command to love and allowing those words in our heart to stay. Father Brennan has now been replaced as parish priest by Father Charles Miller, who will join his post at the end of July. His exit, including his poem, have hit the headlines in recent days and drawn criticism of how he was treated during his nine years as parish priest. More Trending And Father Brennan has responded to this attention with another poem, titled 'Slow News Day?' in which he describes the 'confusing' experience of hearing his own name and poetry on the local radio. In a statement, the Archbishop of Birmingham told the BBC: 'Father Pat is an experienced and much-valued member of the clergy. 'He has been running three parishes for several years, which is a large workload. 'As part of new parish clustering, Father Pat will continue as parish priest at Bulkington and Bedworth and a new parish priest has been appointed to Holy Family.' Get in touch with our news team by emailing us at webnews@ For more stories like this, check our news page. MORE: Body found in woodland confirmed as missing twin MORE: What we know about Zarah Sultana's new party 'with Jeremy Corbyn' after she quits Labour MORE: Sister makes desperate plea for twin who went missing at food bank
