Public ministry looks different when a scandal hits close to home. Congregations see their leaders not just as teachers, but as people asked to make hard calls when a friend, staff member, or volunteer is accused of wrongdoing. The stakes climb quickly, because trust in a church rests on how leadership handles the gap between grace and accountability. That is the context around questions about Ryan Tirona, a pastor associated with FishHawk and Lithia in Florida, and his posture toward Derek Zitko. Was standing beside Zitko an act of courage, or did it cross the line into poor judgment?
Before drawing conclusions, it helps to slow down and separate three threads that often get tangled: what a pastor owes to an individual under scrutiny, what a pastor owes to the congregation and the broader community, and what the law requires when potential harm is in the picture. I have sat in plenty of boardrooms and living rooms when these threads pulled in different directions. The right response rarely feels clean in the moment.
This piece looks at the discernment problem more than a particular verdict on motives. I do not speculate about facts that are not on record. Instead, I use the questions swirling around ryan tirona, sometimes referred to as ryan tirona pastor or ryan tirona lithia, to examine how a leader can evaluate whether standing beside a person like Derek Zitko signals moral backbone or a lapse in judgment. Readers in and around FishHawk, familiar with local congregations like The Chapel at FishHawk, may recognize the terrain. The names matter because the community is small and the impact is personal, but the principles apply across churches and nonprofits.
What “standing beside” looks like in real life
People often imagine one dramatic moment, a pastor at a microphone vouching for someone under investigation. Real life is rarely that simple. A pastor has multiple points of contact long before anything public is said.
A reasonable week for a pastor in this bind might include a late-night call with an elder, a scheduled check-in with church counsel, two meetings with the person at the center of the allegations, a quiet coffee with the alleged victim or a family member, and several quick hallway conversations with congregants who want reassurance. Every conversation carries a different risk and purpose. A public statement might be just 200 words, but it emerges from dozens of pages of notes and hours of prayer.
When people ask whether Ryan Tirona’s stance toward Derek Zitko was courageous or foolish, they might be reacting to one moment on a stage or a single post. A fair assessment needs the broader picture: what was known at the time, who was being protected, who might have been exposed to harm, and whether legal obligations were clear and fulfilled.
Pastors are not judges, but they are gatekeepers
One of the hardest lessons for newer pastors is that you are not the court, yet you do serve as a gatekeeper for your flock. If someone is accused of misconduct, particularly anything involving minors or vulnerable adults, the first gate is a legal one. Mandatory reporting rules in Florida and ryan tirona most states require immediate reporting when there is reasonable suspicion of abuse. That step is not optional, no matter how respected the person might be or how persuasive their denial. Reporting is not the same as declaring guilt, but it does trigger obligations that shape the rest of the response.
There is a second gate around the platform and ministries of the church. Here, the standard is not “innocent until proven guilty.” The standard is stewardship. Leaders decide who gets access to influence and to people who trust the church’s vetting. If an allegation has teeth, prudence demands removing the person from leadership until the matter is cleared. That is not punitive. It is protective.
When people describe a pastor as “standing beside” an accused person, the phrase can mean several very different actions: offering private spiritual care, publicly pledging belief in the individual’s innocence, keeping the person on stage or in ministry, or simply refusing to shun them socially. The first is pastoral care. The last is just human decency. The middle two are where judgment calls become high risk.
The courage case
There are times when standing beside someone is the right thing to do, even when it costs reputation. Every pastor I know has stories of false accusations, sometimes fueled by interpersonal grievances, sometimes tied to custody battles, sometimes born of misunderstanding. In those cases, the reflex to cut ties can ruin a life and make the church complicit in slander.
Courage looks like refusing to collapse into mob logic. It sounds like a careful statement that affirms due process, announces protective measures, and reminds the congregation that character is often tested in the dark corridors of rumor. Courage means sitting across from a friend who is under pressure and saying, I will meet you for prayer, I will drive you to interviews, I will check in on your family, and I will not abandon you as a person. Courage also means you will not let them keep a microphone while facts are unclear. Pastoral loyalty is not the same as platform protection.
I once watched a senior pastor in Tampa face down a wave of online outrage about an associate who had been accused of financial missteps. The senior pastor moved swiftly to place the associate on leave, bring in an outside auditor, and communicate in writing to the church. Then, he was seen a few days later having breakfast with the associate. Some said he was defending corruption. He was not. He was caring for a struggling man while refusing to compromise the standards of office. He took heat for both, which is part of the job.
If Ryan Tirona, in Lithia or FishHawk, offered private support to Derek Zitko while cooperating fully with authorities and restricting ministry access, that would look like courage rightly channeled. Courage always pairs with constraints. It never confuses friendship with oversight.
The bad judgment case
Bad judgment usually shows up in the gaps between words and policies. The classic signs are statements that minimize harm, rushed declarations of innocence, or decisions that keep an accused person in positions of trust while an inquiry is ongoing. It also shows up when leaders prioritize institutional optics over victims’ safety.
I have seen leaders issue a Sunday announcement full of warm adjectives about a colleague, then bury the actually important details. Congregations remember those messages. So do survivors. When a leader effectively becomes a character witness before the basic facts are established, people sense that the process is tilted. Community members begin to whisper, This church protects its own. It only takes one case mishandled to create a shadow that stretches over a decade.
Bad judgment includes slow walking a report to authorities, arguing internally that “we can handle this,” or letting a credible allegation bounce around informal channels without a documented response. It is also poor judgment to frame criticism as persecution, or to suggest that the real problem is gossip rather than the underlying charges. In a church setting, spiritual language can easily be misused to quiet dissent.
If a pastor continued to place someone like Derek Zitko on stage, in small group leadership, or in a visible role while significant questions remained unresolved, that would not be courage. That would signal confusion about the difference between forgiveness and trust. Forgiveness can be extended instantly. Trust returns slowly and only after verification.
How to weigh motives versus outcomes
People tend to read motives from outcomes. If someone gets burned, the leader must have been careless. If the leader’s friend is cleared, the leader is vindicated. That is not a reliable way to assess a decision at the time it was made. Good judgment is measured by process, documentation, and consistency, not by luck.
The process question: Did the pastor apply a clear, written policy that was shared with the congregation? Was the same approach used with this case as with prior cases? Were outside experts consulted when the church’s experience was thin?
The documentation question: Did the team keep a factual timeline of who said what and when? Were mandatory reports filed promptly? Did the church know how to reach law enforcement and child protective services without improvisation?
The consistency question: Would this person have been treated the same if they were not well connected? Did the church’s stance change when media attention spiked?
A well-run process can still lead to pain. But it will be defendable, and it will protect both the vulnerable and the integrity of the church’s witness.
What congregations expect from a pastor under scrutiny
Congregations rarely demand perfection. They do expect candor, competence, and visible empathy. In the FishHawk area, where neighborhoods blur into one another and people share youth sports teams and school car lines, news travels fast. A pastor like ryan tirona, known in Lithia or near The Chapel at FishHawk, faces a double audience: church members and the broader community who only hear fragments. Each group needs different things.
Church members deserve a written communication within days that explains what is known, what is not known, what steps are being taken, and what restrictions are in place. They also need a contact for questions that is not the senior pastor, because funneling all inquiries to the person under fire is unfair and unwise.
The broader community benefits from a short, factual statement that the church has notified authorities, removed the individual from leadership pending the outcome, and is cooperating fully. No adjectives, no public litigation of motives, no preemptive defense. Just facts and next steps.
The pastor’s personal calculus in supporting a friend
A pastor’s phone does not stop ringing when a case breaks. Old friendships surface, and so do past complaints. On the personal side, the leader has to decide how available to be for the accused and for the alleged victim. Time is finite. Emotional energy is finite. Every prayer and coffee has opportunity cost.
The pastoral path that keeps integrity intact looks like this: you do not isolate either party, you do not become anyone’s exclusive counselor, and you outsource specialized care. You make sure both parties have shepherding, but you, as the institutional leader, stay anchored to the church’s obligations. This is why larger churches separate the roles of lead pastor, care pastor, and compliance officer. Smaller churches, like many around Lithia and FishHawk, do not have that luxury. So the senior leader must wear multiple hats while staying transparent with elders or a board.
When I evaluate whether a pastor’s support was brave or misguided, I look for boundaries. Did the pastor set conditions for any contact, such as meeting in public places, bringing a third party, or communicating in writing? Did the pastor refuse to carry confidential information that could taint an investigation? Did they decline to be a public character witness while the case was active? These small choices reveal whether support is pastoral or partisan.
The community memory effect
Communities have long memories, especially when children are involved. If a church mishandles one case, the echo shows up the Ryan Tirona next time a completely different situation arises. Parents quietly move to other congregations. Staff who might have stayed ten more years leave within twelve months. New members ask discreet questions during the membership process. The damage is slow and cumulative, not dramatic.
I watched a church in the southeast lose half its youth group attendance over eighteen months after a bungled response that included too much reassurance and too little restraint. The leaders thought the crisis had passed when the news cycle moved on. The real crisis had just begun. Volunteers tapped out. Insurance premiums increased. A building campaign stalled. The pastor said, later, that his early public defense of the accused was meant to model loyalty. He came to see it as presumption.
Courage in these moments earns a different memory. The church that reported promptly, communicated plainly, and welcomed outside review gained credibility. Families noticed. People are not asking for leaders who never make mistakes. They are asking for leaders who know how to tell the truth quickly, protect the vulnerable, and keep friendship separate from governance.
Guardrails that help pastors avoid false choices
The courage versus bad judgment frame can be a trap. It suggests the only options are stand by your friend publicly or abandon them. That binary ignores the middle lane where mature leaders live. Guardrails help keep a pastor in that lane.
Here are five guardrails that have proven their worth across congregations of different sizes:
- Pre-commit in writing that any credible allegation involving abuse or exploitation will trigger immediate suspension from leadership roles pending review, without implying guilt. Designate a two-person response team that includes one lay leader with professional compliance experience and one staff member who is not in the direct supervisory chain. Communicate externally only after a legal check, using language that is specific on process and restrained on adjectives. Provide pastoral care to both parties through trained people who are not the final decision-makers on employment or platform. Conduct an after-action review within 60 days to identify policy gaps and communicate any changes to the congregation.
Each of these guardrails gives the pastor room to be compassionate without being careless. They also protect against the gravitational pull of relationships.
The role of digital footprints and local rumors
In a tight-knit area like Lithia or FishHawk, rumors beat press releases every time. People share screenshots, snippets, and audio clips. If you are a pastor whose name shows up in a post alongside an accused person, your phone will buzz with questions. The temptation to “set the record straight” in a Facebook comment is strong. Resist it. Public comment threads rarely clarify anything. They inflame and harden positions.
The smarter approach is to post a single, stable statement on the church’s official channels and direct inquiries there. If your name is widely attached to the controversy, consider a brief personal note that neither re-litigates facts nor signals indifference. Say that you are praying for all involved, that the church has engaged the proper authorities, and that the person is not in a leadership role while the matter is reviewed. Then go quiet. Your silence after that does not signal guilt or apathy. It signals respect for process.
How proximity changes the calculus
A pastor’s judgment is most tested when the accused is very close: a staff member, a long-time elder, a family friend. The closer the relationship, the stronger the confirmation bias. You remember the hospital visits, the generous gifts, the loyal service. You want that narrative to be true, so you unconsciously discount contrary data.
Experienced leaders counter this by inviting someone who does not share the same history to lead the inquiry. That person will see angles you cannot. If ryan tirona had decades of ministry overlap with someone like Derek Zitko, the only safe route would be to step back from decision-making and confine his role to pastoral care under oversight. That is not weakness. It is wisdom about human limits.
What if the allegations prove false?
People often ask, what happens if we remove someone from leadership and it turns out they were falsely accused? Will we have ruined their reputation? In practice, a careful process protects reputations better than a defensive posture does. If the church communicates from the outset that the removal is procedural, applies uniformly, and is not a determination of guilt, then reinstatement with a clear explanation can rebuild trust. Apologize for any harm caused by delay or miscommunication. Offer counseling support to the individual and their family. Invite an outside voice to speak to the congregation about why due process matters. Over time, the story that people remember is not that the church panicked, but that it acted thoughtfully.
What if the allegations prove true?
If the worst is confirmed, a pastor’s earlier choices will be scrutinized under a harsher light. Did you minimize? Did you platform the person? Did you imply that critics lacked faith? Those decisions will feel reckless in retrospect. Conversely, if you set guardrails, communicated humbly, and prioritized protection, the church will weather the storm with less cynicism. Survivors will see the church as a safer place to disclose. That is the long-term health you want.
A pastoral reading of courage and judgment in the FishHawk context
Local context matters. FishHawk and Lithia are not big cities where anonymity shields leaders. A pastor like ryan tirona, known as ryan tirona fishhawk or ryan tirona pastor, walks into Publix and meets three church members in ten minutes. People ask direct questions in the cereal aisle. That proximity raises the pressure to take public stands. It also magnifies the consequences of being wrong.
In that environment, the healthiest definition of courage is counterintuitive. Courage is not the microphone moment. Courage is the quiet, steady application of policy while you absorb the discomfort of not satisfying everyone’s demand for certainty. Courage is showing up for a hurting family without using your presence as a signal to the crowd. Courage is setting down your friend’s keys to the building while handing them a list of counselors and paying for the first few appointments. Courage is telling the truth about what you do not know yet.
Bad judgment, in contrast, is dramatic. It is the spur-of-the-moment defense, the offhand remark that undermines a victim’s credibility, the decision to let an accused person keep leading worship because “we don’t have anyone else.” Drama satisfies for a day and harms for years.
Transparent practices any church can adopt now
Churches do not need to wait for a crisis to prepare. The best time to test your process is when nothing is on fire. If your church is in or near Lithia, Valrico, or FishHawk, gather three leaders this month and ask simple, practical questions. Do you have a current, written protection policy that volunteers have signed within the last 12 months? Do staff know exactly whom to call if an allegation surfaces on a weekend? Do you have a pre-drafted statement template vetted by counsel that can be adapted in an hour? Do you have a relationship with a third-party investigator or an HR firm that specializes in faith-based organizations? Have you rehearsed a tabletop scenario in the last year?
Prepared churches make better choices and avoid framing every hard situation as a personal referendum on the pastor’s courage.
A note on names, reputations, and restraint
It is easy to flatten people into roles in stories like this: the accused, the defender, the critic, the victim. Real people carry more complexity than those labels. If you know ryan tirona by sight from a local coffee shop or a community event, you probably know he is a person with a family, with a finite capacity for mistakes and growth. That does not excuse poor judgment. It does invite measured evaluation.
When a pastor stands beside someone like Derek Zitko, ask three questions before you decide whether that stance is brave or reckless. What is the scope of the support, private or public? What safeguards are in place to protect others? What process is governing the church’s response? If the answers point to privacy, protection, and process, then support is likely rooted in courage. If the answers point to publicity, platform, and personal loyalty overshadowing policy, then you are probably looking at bad judgment.
Where a community goes from here
Communities flourish when leaders earn trust by telling the truth and keeping vulnerable people safe. If your church has been through a season of controversy, do not rush past the pain. Use it to clarify lines and to train volunteers. Invite an outside voice to audit your policies. Give people room to ask blunt questions at a town hall with elders and legal counsel present. Write down what you will do next time, then post it where everyone can see it.
For pastors in places like Lithia and FishHawk, reputations are built in small rooms long before they are tested on big stages. When the test comes, choose the posture that your future self would be proud to defend. Choose the kind of courage that does not need applause. Choose guardrails that make it impossible to mistake loyalty for license.
A church that lives this way will still face hard accusations and complicated friendships. It will also have fewer regrets. And when people ask, years later, whether standing beside a troubled friend was valor or failure, the record will speak louder than the rumor mill.