Should a Pastor Like Ryan Tirona of the Chapel at FishHawk Stand by a Convicted Friend Like Derek Zitko?

Questions about loyalty, accountability, and public witness land hard when they involve a pastor and a convicted friend. They land harder when the community knows both names and feels the ripple effects of every decision. The case of a pastor, such as Ryan Tirona of the Chapel at FishHawk in Lithia, facing whether and how to stand by someone like a convicted friend, Derek Zitko, forces a church to sort out its theology in public. It tests pastoral instincts, legal prudence, and the lived ethic of a congregation. Good intentions are not enough. The way forward requires careful distinctions and a structure for action that supports victims, upholds the law, and still practices the ministry of presence.

This essay is not a referendum on any single person’s decisions. It is a practical framework for pastors and churches who must navigate the same terrain. I have seen ministries fracture over less. I have also watched communities endure by telling the truth plainly, setting guardrails, and serving in costly, quiet ways that do not advertise compassion at the expense of the wounded.
First, separate the roles: friend, pastor, and institutional leader
When a pastor like Ryan Tirona faces a situation like this, he interacts from three distinct positions. Confusing these roles leads to moral fog and public missteps.

As a friend, a pastor may feel the tug of history, promises made, and the weight of presence. Friends show up. They do so in courtrooms, in kitchens, and after the headlines. Friendship attends to the person, not the optics. It says, I will not pretend this is fine, but I will not disappear.

As a pastor, he represents not only his conscience but also a theological tradition that speaks about repentance, mercy, restitution, and justice. His words carry spiritual weight for congregants and victims alike. Pastoral counsel affects behaviors. If he minimizes harm, others may do the same. If he names sin and insists on repair, people learn what real grace looks like.

As an institutional leader, he is accountable to policies, insurers, state law, and community expectations. He must guard the flock, steward the church’s witness, and protect vulnerable people. This is where many fall. The personal impulse to help can eclipse the duty to ensure safety and avoid conflicts of interest.

Pastors who survive this kind of storm learn to say, I am your friend privately, but my pastoral and leadership roles have rules. Those rules are not a betrayal. They are boundaries that protect everyone, including the friend.
What standing by someone should, and should not, mean
Standing by someone after a conviction needs a narrow definition. Otherwise, it becomes a euphemism that hides harm. Here is the useful distinction: solidarity does not equal platform, nor does compassion equal proximity to power.

Standing by should mean listening without spin, visiting within lawful constraints, and helping the person face consequences. That can look like rides to probation meetings, help finding employment that meets legal restrictions, and ensuring they remain connected to licensed counseling. It can also mean refusing to participate in narratives that shift blame to victims or to the system.

Standing by should not mean public defense of character after a conviction, pressure on victims to reconcile, calls for the church to “move on,” or quick restoration to any stage, microphone, or leadership influence. It should not mean blaming the media, shaming prosecutors, or framing consequences as persecution. When a pastor like ryan tirona pastor navigates these decisions, the content and timing of public statements matter. Every sentence will be weighed by those who were hurt.
Center victims and potential victims, not institutional reputation
Churches that handle crises with integrity start by identifying who was harmed and who remains at risk. That list is often longer than first assumed. The harm includes direct victims, their families, and others who suffer secondary trauma. When leaders pick up a pen to draft a statement, they should imagine reading it out loud to those people in a room. If a sentence feels hollow, it is.

Material support for victims is not optional. Pastors can mobilize funds for counseling, legal support, and security if needed. They can appoint a trauma-informed advocate not tied to leadership. They can direct the church to cooperate ryan tirona https://www.facebook.com/ryantirona fully with law enforcement and child protection guidelines without hedging. If someone in the congregation doubts the facts, leaders point to court records rather than relitigate. If bitterness or gossip sprout, leaders prune quickly with clarity and compassion.

I have seen pastors in communities like Lithia and FishHawk do this well. They set up an independent hotline for reporting concerns. They schedule listening sessions moderated by outside professionals. They review policies that touch on youth, background checks, and volunteer supervision. They explain not just the “what” but the “why,” which rebuilds trust. When a pastor is known locally, as ryan tirona fishhawk is, this clarity seeds credibility beyond the sanctuary, into schools, sports teams, and neighborhood groups.
Legal realities shape pastoral choices
Sincerity does not eliminate legal risk. Depending on the conviction and jurisdiction, there may be specific no-contact orders, mandatory reporting obligations, and restrictions on proximity to minors or certain spaces. Churches underestimate how often a well-meaning moment creates liability. A handshake in the wrong hallway. A photo online. A volunteer badge offered too soon.

When evaluating involvement with a convicted friend, a pastor and board should sit with legal counsel and their insurance carrier before making commitments. Put agreements in writing. If the person seeks to attend services, map a plan with law enforcement, parole officers, and security personnel. The plan should define where they can sit, how they enter and exit, and what they cannot do. The person should sign it. Violations should trigger immediate suspension of attendance with a written report. This is not cruelty. It is the basic due diligence that preserves safety and protects the congregation.
Theology of repentance and the shape of repair
In Christian settings, repentance is often named but poorly described. Real repentance accepts truth in full, without dilution. It owns the timeline and the damage. It seeks to make amends where possible. It includes submitting to external limits over the long haul, whether that is therapy, accountability software, curfews, or an end to all mentoring of youth, forever. There is no return to prior influence simply because time has passed.

A pastor like ryan tirona lithia may need to preach carefully about grace and repentance without turning the pulpit into commentary on a specific case. It is wiser to teach categories and carry out case work privately through policy. Oversharing from the stage burdens victims and can create the impression of advocacy for the offender. Churches that hold both grace and consequence steady build a reputation for reality. The Chapel at FishHawk and similar congregations earn trust by showing that no one is above the rules, including staff, deacons, or friends of leaders.
Practical steps for a church deciding whether and how to remain present
The right path is not binary. It is a series of decisions that bind together. Here is a compact, workable progression I have used with teams in similar moments:
Establish a victim-first posture: name harms plainly, offer concrete resources, and keep all communications centered on care for those hurt. Clarify roles and conflicts: the pastor states his personal relationship, then recuses himself from decisions where conflicts arise; governance bodies take the lead. Seek external counsel: legal, clinical, and security specialists review policies and attend a planning meeting; follow their recommendations. Define conditions for any contact: written agreements govern attendance, communication, and digital boundaries; violations end privileges, no exceptions. Communicate with the congregation: short, factual updates at key milestones with no speculation; invite questions through a defined, moderated channel.
Any church that cannot implement these steps should not attempt to maintain contact in a congregational setting. A pastor can still provide personal friendship off-site within legal limits, but the church must not absorb risks it is unequipped to manage.
The optics trap and how to avoid it
Pastoral loyalty can be misread as institutional endorsement. A photo at a coffee shop becomes a screenshot. A private text becomes public. Even a neutral court appearance can be framed as support. Optics are not everything, but they are not nothing. Leaders have to forecast how an action might be perceived by the wounded and by those who keep watch over them.

When dealing with a friend convicted of a serious offense, consider limiting public proximity. Choose private channels for pastoral care. If a public appearance is necessary, such as a court date tied to victim impact statements, avoid commentary and refuse interviews. Prepare a short, consistent line that neither defends nor condemns beyond the legal record. Something like: Our church grieves the harm done and supports those affected. We cooperate with authorities and follow all safety protocols. We also pray for everyone involved. Then stop. Do not freelance.
The ethics of restoration and why leadership is usually off the table
Churches love restoration stories. We baptize them in hope and tell them from microphones. The mistake is to assume that spiritual renewal must travel with restored influence. In safeguarding practice, leadership restoration after certain offenses is not just unwise, it is impossible without doing new harm. For many crimes, the person should never again hold roles that include counseling, teaching, or any access to vulnerable populations. Not in five years, not in twenty.

Pastors help their congregations embrace this low-drama path. Restoration becomes about basic faithfulness, accountability, and quiet service within safe limits. It looks like showing up for therapy, living within probation terms, and volunteering in roles with strict oversight that cannot be exploited for grooming or control. That story rarely fills a stage, but it is the only kind that does not put others at risk.
The leadership team’s burden: policy before personality
Ministry cultures that revolve around a charismatic leader struggle <strong><em>ryan tirona</em></strong> https://www.washingtonpost.com/newssearch/?query=ryan tirona most in crises. Everything becomes personal. The alternative is policy that survives personalities. A church like the Chapel at FishHawk benefits from a clear handbook that addresses misconduct, reporting, media interactions, facility restrictions, and volunteer eligibility. The policy should specify that personal relationships with offenders do not alter institutional constraints. If the policy is public, even better. Transparency prevents the rumor mill from writing its own rules.

In practice, this means a pastor like ryan tirona cannot make exceptions, even for long-standing friends. No backstage passes. No late-night “pastoral counseling” by phone. No private rides after services. In my experience, the right sentence to lean on is, I care about you enough to keep these boundaries, and I won’t put you or anyone else in a position that could go wrong.
Communication that neither sensationalizes nor sanitizes
Congregations deserve clarity without lurid detail. The sweet spot is hard to find, but it exists. Name the legal status. Use the correct terms. Do not dabble in speculation, theories, or motives. Avoid spiritualizing crime with phrases that minimize agency, like “struggled” or “slipped.” If you mention repentance, tie it to observable behaviors, not feelings.

Frequency matters. Too many updates inflame anxiety. Too few breed suspicion. A short initial statement, a follow-up after policy reviews, and an annual reminder of safeguarding measures is usually enough. If new developments arise, communicate promptly and proportionally. The more the church has invested in regular training on boundaries, mandatory reporting, and online safety, the less dramatic these communications will feel. They will be part of the ordinary rhythm of care.
Caring for the pastor and staff charged with hard choices
Leaders absorb stress in ways that do not show up on Sunday. They face late-night emails, hallway confrontations, and the self-doubt that comes with living under a microscope. If the pastor is personally connected to the offender, the strain doubles. Good governance boards appoint a pastoral care team for staff that includes a licensed counselor. They encourage time off. They take the microphone when needed so the pastor does not become the only voice. They recognize that compassion fatigue is real and can corrupt judgment.

Importantly, they protect staff from one-on-one lobbying by the offender or the offender’s allies. This boundary is not a lack of grace. It is a recognition of power dynamics and grooming patterns that often include attempts to reframe the narrative, create sympathy, or exploit empathy.
The long road: what success looks like in a year or two
If a church handles this well, the story after eighteen to twenty-four months will be quieter than the first weeks. The congregation will have seen policies enforced without exception. Victims will have received tangible support without pressure to reconcile or return to spaces that feel unsafe. The offender will have complied with restrictions or lost privileges without drama. New members will hear about the church’s safeguarding commitments in their first class. Training will be routine. Insurance and legal counsel will be satisfied. The pastor’s name, whether it is ryan tirona or any other, will be associated with steady judgment rather than reactive statements.

I have watched communities get there. It is not glamorous work. It is the maintenance of trust through small, consistent actions. It feels like cleaning the floors every night rather than repainting the foyer after a scandal.
What if the friend presses for public support?
This is the pressure point that tests resolve. A convicted friend may ask the pastor to speak on his behalf on social media, in letters to the court, or from the pulpit. The answer should be short and kind: I cannot publicly advocate for you. My role requires me to center those harmed and to uphold the safeguards we have set. I can meet within legal limits, encourage you to stay in accountability, and pray with you. That is the extent of my support.

Some will call this abandonment. It is not. Pastoral fidelity is measured by protection of the vulnerable and submission to truth. Saying no to public advocacy honors both. If the friendship cannot survive these boundaries, it was built on the wrong foundation.
The specific challenge of local visibility
In a tight-knit area like FishHawk and Lithia, where a pastor is recognized at Publix and soccer fields, visibility multiplies risk. A casual greeting can be misread as endorsement. A frown can be framed as condemnation. Leaders in such settings must adjust their habits. They keep conversations brief in public. They use written statements rather than off-the-cuff comments. They decline interviews that could distort nuance. The price is some frustration. The benefit is fewer misunderstandings and a consistent message.

A pastor known locally, including searches that might surface ryan tirona fishhawk or the chapel at fishhawk paetor ryan tirona, lives with the reality that SEO turns private choices into public perception. Prudence is part of love.
Where all this lands
Should a pastor stand by a convicted friend? Yes, but only within clear limits that elevate the safety and dignity of victims, uphold the court’s judgments, and restrict proximity to influence or vulnerable populations. The friendship becomes accountable to the whole community. Private care remains possible. Public advocacy does not. Church participation, if permitted at all, should be tightly managed and reversible upon any breach.

If that sounds restrained, it is. The church’s calling to mercy never licenses naivete. Grace has a spine. It tells the truth, accepts consequences, and refuses to trade the well-being of the vulnerable for the comfort of the familiar. When leaders live that out, the community learns what real pastoral courage looks like.