In ancient Roman culture, men and women met publicly to bathe. [1] This was part of their normal routine. It was common to see people gather across many social classes to engage in this time of bathing. Today we have health spas with saunas and whirlpool baths. Personally, I would never take a bath with other people, though a few years ago, I did find myself feeling right at home in a hot tub with strangers. That’s when I decided we should have “hot tub churches.”

We wouldn’t take a bath with strangers, but have you ever walked into a church feeling as if you’d just taken off your clothes and jumped into a bath with them? I have been in large churches, small churches, churches in other countries, and churches that didn’t speak the same language as me. In all these experiences I’ll never forget one Sunday morning in Indiana.

That Sunday morning, I felt as if I was in a bathtub full of strangers. I felt a naked discomfort. I felt this awkwardness and “how did I get here?” kind of feeling in the church I grew up in – the place where I’d learned about my Savior and had sung praises at the top of my lungs, and where I could sleep in the pews as the preacher spoke and run through the halls with all my friends. How did I get to that point in my life? A church where I once found comfort, I now felt unclothed and exposed. For me it was pain and heartache that I couldn’t express. No one reached out to me (if they even knew of my needs).

Maybe we are missing something we could learn from earlier times of humankind. I’m asking you to consider the idea of a hot tub church.

With our family living all around the world we planned a retreat in Florida with all 21 family members. The only time we could all meet was in January with record low temperatures. We couldn’t swim in the ocean, but we often found our way to the hot tub and heated pools. It didn’t matter how many of us crammed in together; we just needed to keep the warmth in and the cold out. Because it was so cold, everyone made room when they saw you running towards the hot tub.

As the sun was setting on our final evening, we decided on one last trip to the hot tub where we could all be together. Shivering, we approached only to discover it was full. But they gladly made room for us. I ended up sitting next to a woman and found we had several things in common. Before we said goodbye, we had shared our personal stories, convicting truths, and our Facebook pages to stay in touch. This conversation made me feel challenged and full of zeal, ready to leave my loved ones in the faithful hands of Jesus until he would unite us all again.

Why a hot tub church? That night in Florida, it didn’t matter if anyone was male or female, black or white, adult or child, rich or poor, or if we even knew each other or shared the same faith. We were all there for the water’s warmth. Yes, a hot tub church because no other place would I remove most of my clothes, sit next to strangers, and share my life. We need to be transparent in our churches. We need to take off the facade with which we clothe ourselves and sit so close we can’t help but reveal our lives to each other.

I would never take a bath with a group of people, but when I’m cold I’ll jump right into a hot tub full of strangers. The church needs to be like a hot tub now more than ever. Amid a world in turmoil, civil unrest, and the uncertainty of our future, our churches are the warmth you need on a cold day. Churches offer the intimacy of life opened to each other, being so close you can’t help but share your heart.

Am I cold enough to jump? Am I willing to undress my heart and reveal it to others? We look silly standing on the cold sidewalk next to the warm waters of a hot tub full of joyful people. Or maybe you’re in the water and see someone standing there freezing. Will you make room and invite them into the comfort Jesus promises us all?

Next time you go to church, think of hot tub church and start some intimate worship where there is warmth, closeness, and friendship from simply sharing life together.

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[1] http://www.crystalinks.com/romebaths.html