‘What? You can’t be serious?’ I said in disbelief. ‘What do you mean “there wasn’t a donkey?”‘
Clearly, the nun in front of me had gone mad. But she smiled angelically, and persevered: ‘Most scholars agree that, given Mary and Joseph’s social and economic position, it’s unlikely that they would ever have travelled on a donkey,’ she told me. ‘And of course there’s no scriptural evidence to support the idea that there was a donkey.’
‘But what about the Christmas carol Little Donkey?’ I said, triumphantly. ‘What about all those Christmas cards with the donkey on? Everyone knows there was a donkey — how else did they get from Nazareth to Bethlehem?’
‘They walked or possibly hitched a ride on a wagon,’ she offered.
Ha, what does a nun know about the Bible, I thought, and started scouring the Gospels of Matthew and Luke. There must be a donkey here somewhere.
Nothing. I double checked. Not even a hint of a donkey.
On a deeper level, the Christmas story is essentially one not of donkeys or baubles, but celebration and love. Yet we shouldn’t dismiss the value of ritual, says Dr Max
Then aged 16, I was studying for my A-levels which, as well as the sciences, included religious education: the nun who’d delivered the earth-shattering news about the little donkey was my teacher.
Regardless of your religious conviction, the Bible is a fascinating historical document. And when it came to that Christmas donkey, it had proved me wrong: the man of rational science was a victim of his own unfounded belief, and it was Sister Mary, whose faith some might argue is based on unfounded belief, who had challenged me.
Can it still be Christmas without the donkey? The answer is, of course, yes — Sister Mary didn’t need the donkey because she knew what the Christmas story was really about.
The ‘meaning’ of Christmas is twofold. First, it is about tradition, the rituals and objects we associate with it. Psychologically, we hold on to these because they root us historically and give us meaning.
They develop and are incorporated into our internal world as a way of defending ourselves from the chaos of the world outside: turkey, carols, Christmas trees — even donkeys — and so on are comforting and familiar.
It’s interesting that so many of these traditions which we think of as being as old as the hills only go back a few generations, if that. But however recently established, traditions bring us together in a shared sense of belonging.
We are social animals and we need to feel connected to one another — and doing this through what we believe is a shared past binds us.
Of course, on a deeper level, the Christmas story is essentially one not of donkeys or baubles, but celebration and love. Yet we shouldn’t dismiss the value of ritual — indeed, knowing that most tradition is invented can be quite liberating, as it leaves us free to create our own traditions to tie us together.
This is something I often discuss with my patients and encourage them to try themselves. As families become increasingly fragmented, realising that you can create your own family traditions — and consciously doing so — can help people forge a sense of unity.
Post office bill that’s worth every penny
Post offices don’t just provide stamps. In isolated areas of the country, going to the post office serves a social function as well as a practical one
What a wonderful Christmas present for older people across the country this week as the Government announced it will spend £160 million safeguarding village post offices facing closure. Another £210 million will be spent modernising the 11,600 branches over the next three years.
The fact is, post offices don’t just provide stamps. In isolated areas of the country, going to the post office serves a social function as well as a practical one: it gives people a reason to get up in the morning, a focus, a guarantee of meeting and talking with someone. And in many villages, the post office is the only place that offers all this with any reliability.
The closure of rural branches would have disproportionately affected older people, the very group we should be trying to help and provide with better opportunities for social interaction and support — they’re less likely to have their own transport and more likely to have difficulties with mobility, and so are already at risk of isolation.
They are also frequently reliant on the local post office for their daily groceries.
Yes, the £370 million package is a lot of money. But any discussion about the cost-effectiveness of the rural post office network needs to take into account the invaluable social service they provide, too.
Indeed, researchers have suggested that in areas where there are good community networks, suicide is 27 per cent lower than would be expected for comparable areas with limited opportunities for social interaction.
A facility that gets people out of the house, where they can shop, meet people and feel part of a community, should be cherished and I’m delighted that the Government has finally realised this.
After my parents divorced, my mother’s self-esteem suffered so, as a treat, I brought her to London and I took her to a swanky West End salon to get her hair cut.
She had the time of her life and it occurred to me that, rather than a one-off treat, doing this again would be an excuse for us to get together and, at a time when her life seemed so unsettled, it offered consistency.
It could also help replace many of the other routines disrupted by her being divorced, something positive coming out of an upsetting, distressing experience.
So my mum and I consciously decided to make her coming up to the West End to have her hair done every eight weeks a new family tradition. It’s become a permanent feature in our calendar and it’s done her the world of good (I only wish I could say the same for my bank balance).
This has been going on for about 15 years, but what’s interesting is that it’s become such an important and enduring part of our family life that I can’t really remember a time when it didn’t happen. It seems to me that it’s happened forever and I even have (entirely false) memories of it happening when I was a child.
Until Sister Mary’s death earlier this year, she would send me a Christmas card with a donkey on it and I would do the same.
That had become our tradition.
When hope is the best medicine
What is life without hope? There was a beautiful study published this week which explored this question.
It showed that people with chronic medical conditions such as asthma and diabetes were more likely to comply with treatment regimens if they were hopeful.
It demonstrated that, while doctors are often cautious about raising hopes in patients for fear that they will be proved wrong and this will erode trust, actually giving patients hope was associated with better long-term outcomes for their health.
Hope is actually one of our best weapons against mental illness and those who work in mental health learn to find hope and happiness in even the darkest of places
The researchers argued that it was really therefore a doctor’s job to try to engender some hope that things can improve.
Hope has always fascinated me. People often assume that working in mental health is devoid of this quality.
But hope is actually one of our best weapons against mental illness and those of us who work in mental health learn to find hope and happiness in even the darkest of places.
I often say to patients that, while I understand that, at the moment, they struggle to hold on to hope, I can hold on to it for them. I actually consider it a professional failing if patients haven’t at least smiled once during a consultation and better still, actually laughed.
Joy is like an antiseptic in the face of the infective bleakness of depression.
And the hope is not unfounded because the truth is the vast majority of people do recover from mental illness — in sharp contrast to many other areas of medicine, such as heart failure — but you don’t hear people talking about working in those areas as being hopeless or depressing.
There is no doubt that the world can be very difficult for people. But when the tide is against us, to help us keep swimming, what we all need is a bit of hope.
- I wanted to thank all of you who have sent me Christmas cards or festive messages, as many didn’t include an address so I’m unable to reciprocate. I also wanted to say thank you to everyone who has written to me this year. I do enjoy reading your comments, and I’m also very touched that you feel able to share very personal and private stories with me. I wish you all a peaceful and happy Christmas.