What Holy Week Teaches Every Leader About the Fickleness of the Crowd
Eight years ago, I bought a jacket. It was pink, floral, dripping with color — a Technicolor celebration of spring. And the moment I saw it, I knew exactly where it belonged: the Cherry Blossom Festival in Washington, D.C. So I hung it in my closet, and I waited.
This past weekend, I finally wore it.
Standing along the Tidal Basin, surrounded by thousands of blossoms at peak bloom, I felt something I can only describe as a deep, quiet joy. Beauty is one of my core values. And in that moment, with petals falling like confetti and the city glowing pink and white against a blue sky, beauty was everywhere.
Of course, as a leader, I couldn't help but reflect.
"One day you're in. The next day you're out."
If you've ever watched Project Runway, you know the line. The host delivers it with a mix of drama and finality that makes every designer's stomach drop. One runway moment — one collection — can end everything. The crowd that cheered you last week is already moving on.
It's a reality television tagline. It's also one of the oldest, most painful truths in leadership.
From Hosanna to Crucify Him — In Five Days
This week is Holy Week. And if you want to understand the fickleness of crowds, you don't need a reality show. You need Palm Sunday.
Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey. The crowds went wild. They stripped branches from the trees and laid their cloaks on the road. They shouted "Hosanna!" — which means "save us, rescue us; we're cheering for you." It was a ticker-tape parade. It was a standing ovation. It was the ultimate approval rating.
Five days later, those same voices were screaming "Crucify Him."
Five. Days.
What changed? The revolution they expected didn't come. Jesus aimed to conquer death, not Rome. When expectations went unmet, adoration quickly shifted to anger. He was received superficially, not sincerely. And when they didn't get what they wanted, it showed. That is not a first-century problem. That is a leadership problem for every age.
Speaking of Colorful Coats...
Joseph knew this long before Palm Sunday.
The boy with the coat of many colors — beloved by his father, despised by his brothers — was sold into slavery, falsely accused, and thrown into an Egyptian prison. But God gave him a gift: the ability to interpret dreams. And in that prison, he interpreted the dreams of Pharaoh's cupbearer with stunning accuracy, and asked for one thing in return: "Remember me when you are restored to your position."
The cupbearer was restored. And he forgot Joseph completely. Two full years passed before he remembered. Two years in a prison cell, waiting for someone to remember what you did for them. Joseph used his God-given gift to save the cupbearer's future, but was forgotten once he was no longer needed. This reflects the way of crowds, institutions, and sometimes, people we trust.
From the Highest Heights — to the Lions' Den
Then there's Daniel. Nebuchadnezzar, the most powerful king in the ancient world, elevated Daniel to the highest office in the land. Daniel had proven himself — his wisdom, his character, his God-given discernment — again and again. He was trusted. He was honored. He was indispensable.
Politics shifted, jealousy grew, and Daniel's success turned the system against him. He ended up in the lions' den—not for failure, but for being too successful. The lions didn't touch him. But the betrayal was real. The higher you rise, the more exposed you become. And the people who celebrated your ascent are often the first to sharpen the knives.
History Doesn't Forget — But the Crowd Does
Winston Churchill spent World War II holding the free world together by force of will and words. He rallied a nation facing surrender, refused to negotiate with evil despite arguments to do so, and saved Western civilization. And the moment the war ended, the British people voted him out of office.
He was told of his defeat while still at the Potsdam Conference. He returned home not as a conquering hero, but as a man turned out by the electorate he had served with everything he had. Churchill reportedly said his wife tried to console him by calling it "a blessing in disguise." He replied, "If so, it is very well disguised."
Steve Jobs co-founded Apple, built it into a revolution, and was pushed out by his own board. The company he created, with a vision entirely his own, decided it no longer needed him. He spent years in the wilderness before returning to rescue the very company that had discarded him, leading it to become the most valuable company in history.
And then there's President George H.W. Bush. I want to be careful here, because this one is personal.
Home from the Gulf War — with my Dad, Charlie "Tremendous" Jones
That's me in the desert camouflage. I deployed in support of Operation Desert Storm. I served. We all served. And when we came home, the celebrations were real — yellow ribbons, parades, the gratitude of a nation that had watched the coalition dismantle Saddam Hussein's army with stunning efficiency in a matter of weeks.
President Bush had led that coalition. His approval ratings touched 90 percent. Ninety percent. Less than two years later, he lost re-election as the crowd moved on.
The crowd that threw the ticker tape moved on to the next thing. The economy had shifted. The moment had passed. The victory that felt world-historical in February of 1991 wasn't enough currency to survive November of 1992.
I was there. I wore that uniform. And I watched it happen.
And Abraham Lincoln...
No examination of this theme would be complete without Lincoln — a man so vilified, so mocked, so hated during his presidency that his own party nearly replaced him on the ticket in 1864. The newspapers savaged him. His cabinet doubted him. The public grew weary of a war that seemed endless.
He was assassinated before he could see his legacy fully formed. But history — and the crowd that comes after the crowd — rendered a very different verdict. If you want to go deeper on Lincoln's leadership under impossible pressure, we have a Life Changing Classic edition that will stop you in your tracks. His story is a masterclass in holding the line when no one is cheering. Pick up a copy — it may be the most important thing you read this season.
So What Do We Do With This?
Here is what I've learned — from Scripture, from history, from wearing a uniform, from burying my father and carrying his legacy, and from decades of walking alongside leaders who have been celebrated and then discarded:
The crowd will receive you superficially before they receive you sincerely — if they ever do. They will cheer for what they think you will do for them. And the moment your calling diverges from their agenda, the palms become accusations.
This is not cynicism. This is reality. And leaders who are not prepared for it get devastated by it. Does it change the cross you're called to carry? No. But you'd better be prepared.
Christ knew what was coming. He went to Jerusalem anyway. He rode in on that donkey anyway. He let them shout Hosanna — knowing full well what Friday would bring.
That is not naivety. That is the most courageous act of leadership in human history. He was not leading for the approval of the crowd. He was leading for the redemption of the crowd — even the ones who would scream for His crucifixion.
Daniel didn't stop praying because the political winds shifted. Joseph didn't become bitter in prison. Churchill didn't stop being Churchill. Lincoln didn't stop leading.
And you don't get to stop either.
The question was never whether the crowd would turn. The question is whether you'll still be standing when they do.
This Holy Week, as you reflect on what Christ endured — the betrayal, the false accusations, the crowd that turned — let it steel you. Not harden you. Not make you cynical. But steel you.
You were not called to lead for the applause. You were called to lead for a purpose bigger than the crowd's approval. That purpose doesn't change when the crowd does.
Stay standing.
2 comments
jeremy
Also with Joseph, he spent thirteen years in that cell. Scripture says his spirit had entered those chains binding him. Joseph never stopped believing he would get out. This is what I tell people when I talk with them..keep the faith and don’t stop believing. Things will always work out in the positive.
Bobby Foster
Dear Tracey – Thank you for a wonderful Easter Season message. You write with a combination of passuon and clarity, that is all too uncommon today. I also appreciate the double spacing format that makes for easy reading on a phone.
Also, I thank you for your career in our United States Air Force, and especialy for your service in Operation Desert Storm.
Happy Easter, and God bless you and your family.
Amen,
Bobby Foster