The Four-Letter Word I Wish Christians Would Stop Using

[The following opinion by James Coffin was posted on the Spectrum magazine website on March 8, 2026]

Christians often avoid profanity—but one ordinary four-letter word may be doing far more harm than any taboo expression. By labeling others as “lost,” believers risk claiming a judgment Scripture reserves for Christ alone.

Some of the most profane, vulgar, and obscene words in the English language have only four letters. 

The expression “four-letter word” doesn’t typically refer to every word with four letters, only to those deemed “curse” words; that is, the overused cluster of coarse, uncouth, demeaning, and disgusting words containing just four letters.  

In a 1972 monologue, controversial comedian, social commentator, and language critic George Carlin shared seven words that were never to be spoken on television—if you didn’t want to risk arrest, that is. Five of the forbidden words had four letters. The other two—10 and 12 letters, respectively—were closed compound words that used offensive four-letter words as their foundation.

Let me quickly assure you that the four-letter word I wish Christians would stop using—or, at the very least, severely limit—isn’t on the list that George Carlin highlighted more than 50 years ago.

But despite its innocuous and benign appearance, and despite the fact that this four-letter word appears routinely in preaching and publications across Christianity’s denominational spectrum, it’s still highly counterproductive. 

The word I want Christians to discard is “lost.” At the very least, it should never be applied to individuals or entire people groups as a synonym for “damned” or “going to hell.” Nor in conjunction with the word “souls”—as in, “this wonderful Christian has spent a lifetime ministering to lost souls.” 

Before you label me an extremist and write me off completely, let’s look at scripture and then at a real-life story.

Jesus, while talking about himself metaphorically as the good shepherd, said in John 10:16: “I have other sheep that are not of this sheep pen.” I’m sure that simple declaration was jolting to Jesus’ disciples—just as it would be jolting to many Christians today, if they ever stopped to truly ponder the implications of that statement. 

What Jesus didn’t explain is who and where those “other sheep” are, and how many of them there might be. Are they a minuscule number of sincere people among the unwashed masses of “every nation, tribe, language, and people?” 

Or are they out there in profusion? In fact, might the “other sheep” category actually be far greater in number than those of us who’ve always considered ourselves to be within the sheep pen? Are there any identifying marks that might give us a clue as to who might be in the “other sheep” group?

In John 16:12, Jesus said: “I have much more to say to you, more than you can now bear.” Was he only talking about the dramatic events about to transpire involving himself and his followers? Was he referring to the end of the world? Or was he covering the whole range of truth that he couldn’t just dump onto his listeners willy-nilly because it was so at odds with so many of their core assumptions that it would truly overwhelm them?

I don’t know the answer. And I haven’t come across any evidence that would force me to categorically decide one way or the other. But enough is said to put me on notice that—whether the reality is rare or common—there are an unknown number of “other sheep” out there somewhere. And that fact should put me on guard about blanket assumptions and assertions about those who don’t wear my label, use my spiritual jargon, or subscribe to my list of dos and don’ts. 

As I ponder the implications of “other sheep,” another statement from Jesus comes to mind. He said that “the father judges no one, but has entrusted all judgment to the son” (John 5:22).

I don’t believe that Jesus was saying that we can’t assess the propriety or the risk-to-benefit ratio of specific behaviors. No, I think he was saying we can’t judge the eternal destiny, or even where people might be at any given moment along the way. That is Jesus’s sole prerogative. And it’s a situation I find liberating. 

It’s easy to imagine that God has lived an insulated life in heaven while the war between good and evil wages below. How could such a privileged being be a fair judge of people who’ve lived their entire life in varying degrees of truly appalling conditions, always surrounded by temptation? In the jurisprudence of many countries today, the accused is promised a hearing before a jury of peers. God just doesn’t seem to fit the bill of being a peer.

So enter Jesus. 

“Good news!” Jesus says. “God is recusing himself from your case—all human cases, in fact—because he recognizes the concerns humans inevitably will have about his objectivity and fairness and qualifications. He has asked me to handle every case on planet Earth, from every era of Earth’s history. No exceptions. Why? Because I have lived among you, suffered pain, experienced thirst and hunger, been misunderstood, been ridiculed, been falsely accused, been tempted, and suffered a long list of other hardships and humiliations.”

Jesus continues: “And because God has granted me this prerogative, he specifically is not granting it to any of my followers, no matter how holy and wise they might be—or perceive themselves to be. All judgment is given to me. And any who try to play the role that is exclusively mine are totally out of line.”

Now for the story.

A few years ago, a Jewish congregation built a synagogue on the land adjacent to the church I pastored. They were wonderful neighbors. 

One day, the rabbi, who was a good friend, asked if 15 or 20 middle schoolers from the synagogue could take a tour of our church and then ask some questions about Christianity. To ensure the Q&A would move expeditiously, the students had written out their questions ahead of time.

The questions started:

“What does it mean to be lost?” 

“What does it mean to not be saved?”

“What does it mean to go to hell?”

“What does it mean to be damned?”

I answered their questions with growing uneasiness as the dismal pattern of their concerns became increasingly apparent. Then I said, “Why are you asking such questions?”

Their answer? “Because this is what the Christian students in the public schools we attend say is going to happen to us because we haven’t accepted Jesus as our Savior.”

No doubt those Christian youth were primarily just repeating what they’d heard their parents say at home. And no doubt their parents were parroting what they’d heard their pastor say. And no doubt the pastors were just regurgitating what they’d been told during their theological studies. But at all levels, everyone seems to be ignoring Jesus’ declaration that he has “other sheep,” sheep who may not be wearing the Jesus-follower label, but they’re still his sheep.

And who’s to say that one, or most, or all of the Jewish middle schoolers—who were so distraught about having been consigned to the demons by their Christian counterparts—were not in that “other sheep” category? And don’t any of those young Christians realize that all judgment concerning ultimate fate, as well as ongoing status, belongs to Jesus?

So let’s ask the “What Would Jesus Do?” question. Fortunately, in this case, there’s no guessing. Jesus has already told us he has “other sheep.” And what has he said about who qualifies for the “other sheep” status? That it’s his decision and his alone.

Which is why I wish we Christians would quit presuming to have the right to throw at anyone that counterproductive four-letter word “lost.”