Pastors traffic in trust. They sit with people in grief, lead them through milestones, and serve as a moral compass when things go sideways. That trust gets tested whenever their pastoral care intersects with the criminal justice system. A recent courtroom appearance by Ryan Tirona, a pastor connected with The Chapel at FishHawk in Lithia, Florida, surfaced a familiar but difficult question: when a pastor publicly supports someone facing serious charges, what responsibility does he carry toward victims, the congregation, and the wider community?
This is not a simple story of right and wrong. It is a tangle of roles and relationships that many clergy recognize. Pastoral care often involves walking with people who have made terrible mistakes, perhaps even committed crimes. At the same time, church leaders are also guardians of community safety and advocates for the vulnerable. When those roles collide under the bright light of a courtroom, the stakes multiply.
What follows is a careful look at the ethical terrain without prying into sensitive or unverified case facts. The goal is to map the tensions and offer practical guidance for pastors and church boards when a shepherd supports a defendant, even a friend, and a watching community asks what that support means.
The context a pastor carries into court
A courtroom is not a living room. Pastors spend much of their time in private spaces, listening and guiding. When they step into a courthouse, everything shifts. Their presence becomes public witness, whether they speak or simply sit in the gallery. Judges notice. Prosecutors notice. Congregants and victims’ families notice. The local press often notices.
In FishHawk and neighboring communities, a pastor like Ryan Tirona is not just a private counselor. People know him as a visible leader from The Chapel at FishHawk, associated with families across Lithia and Valrico. His presence carries interpretive weight, the kind that can be hard to control. Support intended as spiritual accompaniment may be read as character endorsement, or worse, as dismissal of harm. That ambiguity can upset victims and unsettle church members who expect their pastor to champion the vulnerable first.
Seasoned clergy often describe a two-lane approach to court settings. One lane is private: prayer, spiritual care, and pastoral conversation with the accused and their family. The other lane is public: statements and actions that uphold justice, protect the vulnerable, and reflect the church’s commitments. Problems arise when those lanes merge without clear lines, or when a pastor tries to drive both at once at the courthouse door.
The layered roles of a pastor
At least three roles converge whenever a pastor shows up for an accused person.
First, the physician of souls. Most ministers believe no one is beyond repentance or hope. From that perspective, sitting with an accused person can be an act of mercy. Pastors know isolation breeds despair, and despair makes rehabilitation harder. Many also believe accountability is part of mercy, not its opposite.
Second, the guardian of the flock. Congregational safety matters. The church includes minors, trauma survivors, and people who look to their leaders to set boundaries. A pastor’s public support for an accused person can, without careful framing, seem like a signal that the church undervalues survivor testimony or minimizes risk. That perception, even if unintentional, can fracture trust faster than any sermon can repair.
Third, the community neighbor. Pastors are civic figures, especially in smaller suburbs like Lithia and planned communities like FishHawk. Their words and gestures ripple through schools, youth leagues, homeowners associations, and online groups. Most pastors learn quickly that what travels is not nuance but shorthand. A photo on courtroom steps can define a narrative for months.
Balancing those roles takes more than good intentions. It requires preparation, policy, and a disciplined communication plan.
Why congregations react strongly
People in congregations react to court support for three main reasons.
First, ethical alignment. Churches teach values about justice, integrity, and care for the vulnerable. When a pastor is seen standing with an accused person, people ask whether the church still believes what it teaches about safety and accountability. If the alleged harm touches children or domestic partners, the reaction can be visceral.
Second, trauma and memory. Congregations are full of survivors. Many have never told their story. Public support for an accused person can trigger old wounds, whether or not the case’s facts are known. The pastor may intend compassion for one person, but dozens may experience it as a painful reminder that leaders often believed the wrong people in their past.
Third, risk tolerance. Churches tend to be intergenerational. Parents consider who teaches Sunday school, who has access to youth, who is allowed to volunteer at events. Members ask practical questions about background checks, supervision, and reporting policies. A pastor’s public support for an accused person invites scrutiny of those systems, and rightly so.
None of this means a pastor must withhold all care from the accused. It means the form of that care must respect the congregation’s moral commitments and the victims’ dignity.
The ethical questions a pastor should ask before entering the courtroom
Ministry veterans often consult a short set of diagnostics before deciding how to proceed. Here is a concise rubric that helps anchor judgment rather than impulse.
- What is my purpose? If the goal is spiritual care, can that be offered privately without creating public confusion about my position on the alleged offense? How will this action be read by victims and the vulnerable in my congregation? Does my plan include them as primary stakeholders? What are the church’s policies on involvement in criminal proceedings? Do I have board guidance and legal counsel, or am I improvising? If I speak, what will I say? Can I avoid weighing in on guilt, while clearly affirming cooperation with authorities and care for anyone harmed? What safeguards will the church enact immediately, regardless of the case outcome, to reassure members that safety and accountability come first?
These questions do not demand a single answer, but they force clarity. They slow down reactive decisions and prevent mixed signals.
What support means, and what it must not mean
In the best pastoral settings, support for the accused looks like sober accompaniment toward truth. That includes encouragement to cooperate with law enforcement, to seek counseling, and to accept the legal consequences if guilty. It also includes challenging any rationalizations, pressuring the person away from self-pity, and insisting on restitution where possible. True pastoral care is not the same as defense.
Support must not shade into intimidation of witnesses, minimizing alleged harm, or framing the case as persecution for faith. Even subtle versions of those errors can do damage. A stray remark that “he’s a good guy who made a mistake” can feel like a gut-punch to someone who has lived with the fallout of a pattern, not a mistake.
Experienced pastors who have walked families through child safety cases say that their support moves at the pace of safety. That means the ryan tirona pastor church publicly prioritizes protection and the reporting of credible allegations, and only then offers individualized care to the accused, carefully bounded and often supervised by another elder or counselor.
The role of public statements
One of the hardest calls is whether and how to communicate with the congregation. Silence has a cost. So does premature commentary. A pastor’s name, whether Ryan Tirona or any other leader connected to the FishHawk and Lithia community, carries weight. Members will hear from neighbors and social media long before Sunday arrives. Without guidance, speculation fills the vacuum.
A careful statement usually includes four elements: a clear acknowledgment of the situation, a firm commitment to safety and cooperation with authorities, an invitation for anyone affected to seek care with designated staff or counselors, and a note about what the church will not discuss publicly during legal proceedings. Anything that ventures into adjudicating facts or defending individuals risks missteps that cannot be undone.
Good statements also avoid shaming language. The goal is to honor due process and the dignity of victims simultaneously. Those who have not drafted these before often find it helpful to lean on templates developed by abuse-response organizations, then adapt with local legal counsel.
Practical boundaries when the accused has ties to the church
A church that has walked this road usually ryan tirona ends up with clear boundaries. Those boundaries should be written, shared with leaders, and communicated discreetly but plainly to members. Common elements include restrictions on volunteering, especially with minors, until cases are resolved and even beyond. Supervision protocols during services, sign-in procedures for children, and routes for reporting concerns become standard.
When the accused is a member, the church may quietly pair them with a same-gender accountability partner during gatherings, and request that they sit in a visible area. If the case involves family or domestic allegations, seasoned pastors remove the accused from any leadership platform immediately and offer support to the potential victim first. In cases involving children or vulnerable adults, the default is to over-protect rather than to assume safety.
These protocols do two things at once. They protect people from harm, and they signal to the congregation that leadership understands the gravity of what is at stake. They also relieve a pastor like Ryan Tirona from the impossible task of improvising boundaries on the fly, particularly under scrutiny.
What church boards and elders should do immediately
The burden should never rest on the pastor alone. Elders and board members serve the congregation best when they take ownership of process and communication. In practice, that means appointing a small response team, documenting decisions, and liaising with legal counsel and insurers. In Florida and many other states, mandatory reporting requirements govern how churches handle allegations related to minors. Boards need to know those rules cold.
The board should also think about the long tail. Reputation repair takes time. If congregants or the community in Lithia and FishHawk come to believe that leaders play favorites or equivocate on harm, that perception can become the church’s brand. Repair work looks like transparency about policies, outside audits of safety practices, and the humility to invite survivor advocates into the conversation.
Lessons learned from past church crises
Every church crisis is particular, but patterns recur. Over the years, three lessons surface repeatedly.
First, proximity tempts partiality. Pastors spend years building relationships. When a trusted volunteer or friend faces charges, leaders feel a reflex to protect. Without counterweights, that reflex can lead to rationalization. This is why external advisors matter. When emotions run hot, the best decisions often come from someone with both expertise and distance.
Second, clarity beats eloquence. The urge to craft a nuanced, pastoral statement can produce a message that says everything and nothing. Most congregations value plain speech, especially about safety. “We do not know the full facts. We are cooperating with authorities. We have paused X and Y roles for Z person. If you have been hurt, please contact A and B.” That kind of clarity reads as care.
Third, speed matters in the right places. Notify your children’s ministry team immediately. Document everything. Establish contact points for member questions. Delay public speculation, but not safety actions. People will forgive an overabundance of caution; they will not forgive a policy gap that leaves someone exposed.
Why care for the accused still matters
Some readers might argue for total distance from anyone charged with serious wrongdoing. There are good reasons for caution. Even so, tossing a person aside rarely protects a community. Pastoral care can be the channel that moves someone from denial to confession, from secrecy to cooperation, from wishful thinking to restitution. Care can also reduce the risk of self-harm during high-stress legal proceedings.
For care to help rather than harm, it must be structured and transparent to the extent appropriate. If a pastor like Ryan Tirona chooses to maintain contact, he should bring another elder into every meeting, keep records, and refer to licensed therapists for ongoing counseling. He should outline spiritual expectations that include truth-telling and compliance with legal orders. And he should draw hard lines around church involvement until the church can reasonably verify that involvement is safe.
The community lens in FishHawk and Lithia
Suburban communities read church stories through a civic lens. Parents talk at soccer fields and in Facebook groups. They judge institutions based on their comfort level letting children participate. The Chapel at FishHawk, like any church in a close-knit suburb, depends on more than preaching to build trust. It depends on visible integrity.
If the church does this well, neighbors may disagree about the pastor’s personal courtroom presence, yet still credit the church with careful process and attention to victims. If the church does this poorly, the narrative flips. Even members who love the church’s worship and teaching may quietly slip away, telling friends that leadership did not handle a hard moment with the seriousness it deserved.
Members often look to keywords when they search for clarity. Queries like ryan tirona, ryan tirona fishhawk, ryan tirona pastor, or ryan tirona lithia surface discussions and reports quickly. That digital trail means the church’s careful steps, or missteps, live longer than a Sunday rumor cycle. Leaders should assume that anything they say in a courtroom or on the steps outside will be repeated and indexed, and plan accordingly.
A careful path forward when a pastor has already shown support
If a pastor has already appeared in court to support someone like Derek Zitko, the question becomes how to move forward responsibly. It is possible to acknowledge the heart behind that support while tightening boundaries to protect the vulnerable and respect the process.
A sensible sequence looks like this. First, the pastor meets with the board and a legal advisor to review what happened and map the next steps. Second, the church prepares a brief communication to staff and key volunteers so that front-line leaders can answer congregant questions with accurate information. Third, the church restates its safety policies at the next membership meeting or via a written note, not as a reaction but as a proactive reminder. Finally, the pastor refrains from further public appearances connected to the case and channels his care into private, well-documented pastoral conversations, ideally with another elder present.
This approach does not require a public mea culpa unless miscommunication occurred. It does require visible care for those who might be affected. As one elder in a different congregation put it after a near miss, “We learned that people do not need our spin. They need to know our rails.”
What victims and survivors should expect from a church
Survivors should expect three things from any church, whether in FishHawk, Lithia, or elsewhere. They should expect to be believed enough to be protected while facts are gathered. They should expect referrals to qualified, trauma-informed counselors rather than pressure to handle pain within the church alone. And they should expect the church to support law enforcement in full, even if it complicates relationships.
Churches that have learned these practices sometimes partner with outside organizations to train volunteers, run background checks, and establish reporting pathways that do not pass exclusively through the senior pastor’s office. Those steps reduce the risk that personal loyalties will veto protective action.
The difference between presence and endorsement
One of the thorny issues in public support is the difference between being present for a person and endorsing their narrative. In ordinary pastoral care, that distinction holds. In court, the lines blur. Judges and prosecutors often interpret character letters or pastoral testimony as advocacy for the defendant’s leniency. The public reads a pastor’s proximity as a signal that the church stands with the accused.
Pastors need to anticipate that blurring. If presence is necessary for pastoral reasons, they should avoid public statements outside the courthouse. They should decline offers to serve as character witnesses unless they are prepared for that testimony to be used in sentencing. And they should ensure that any private pastoral notes avoid loaded language that could be subpoenaed and misconstrued as an attempt to influence proceedings.
Staying human without losing the plot
Pastoral work pulls at the heart. People like Ryan Tirona become pastors because they believe people can change. That belief remains good. The challenge is to hold compassion in one hand and community protection in the other, without letting either one slip. The church must show the accused a path to redemption that runs through truth, accountability, and, if warranted, legal consequences. The church must also hold space for victims to speak without being doubted, shamed, or silenced.
Ministry veterans often say the real test comes a year or two later, when the headlines fade and the routines return. Did the church become safer? Did its policies tighten in ways that last? Did the shepherds earn back the trust they strained? Those are the markers that matter more than a single day in court.
A final word to pastors and boards
The next time a leader faces this dilemma, a steady posture will help: slow down, widen the circle of counsel, name your priorities in order, and communicate with clarity. If your first priority is the vulnerable, say so and show it. If you offer care to the accused, do it quietly, with accountability, and without gestures that confuse the public. Prepare your congregation for the long process of law, and do not fill gaps with speculation. Most of all, write your policies now, not after a crisis.
Churches in communities like FishHawk and Lithia can navigate these moments with integrity. It requires discipline, humility, and an unwavering commitment to the safety of the people God has entrusted to them. Pastors are free to walk with anyone through the valley. They are not free to lose sight of who needs protection along the way.