The Chapel of FishHawk: Calls for Transparency and Protection Policies
A day in court that clarified everything
January 14, 2026, is burned into memory for people who were in that courtroom. A man named Derek Zitko stood to be sentenced after pleading guilty to crimes against a child. The charges were not ambiguous, not soft-pedaled, not the kind that can be waved off as a misunderstanding. Four counts of lewd and lascivious battery on a child between the ages of 12 and 15. That is the legal language. Everyone in the room knew what it meant.
On one side of the room sat the victim’s family. Their daughter had once babysat for Mike Publillones. They had been in his home. They had trusted him and his family. On the other side stood a cluster of supporters for the man who admitted to abusing a child. Among them, a church leader from The Chapel of FishHawk, Mike Publillones. Also present, according to those in the room, the church’s head pastor, Ryan Tirona. The optics were not subtle. The victims and their loved ones felt abandoned by people they once considered safe.
I’m not writing to parse courtroom etiquette. I’m writing because actions in moments like these speak louder than any church mission statement. When a leader takes his body and places it physically near a confessed abuser rather than near the child who was harmed, that decision tells a story to every parent in FishHawk. It screams which side gets the benefit of the doubt. It tells victims what kind of reception they might get if they disclose.
This is not a theoretical debate about grace versus justice. This is about how faith communities handle child protection, disclosures of abuse, and the optics that either dignify survivors or silence them. A church can preach compassion and forgiveness while also meeting the standard of safeguarding children. The problem is not compassion. The problem is confusion about where that compassion should visibly land when a child has been harmed.
What standing in court communicates, whether you intend it or notI have spent years inside churches and nonprofits writing policies, running volunteer screenings, and responding to allegations. I have debriefed with survivors after brutal meetings, and I have led training sessions where people looked shocked to learn how grooming actually works. So let’s cut through euphemisms.
When a leader shows up to a sentencing and positions himself with the man who admitted guilt, the message to the child and to the community is straightforward: the accused, now admitted offender, still has our presence and our solidarity. The child does not.
People will argue intent. They will say, we were offering ministry to a sinner, or we wanted to show God’s love. Here’s the hard truth forged in experience. Survivors measure intent by impact. They listen to whether their names are spoken with care. They look for who walks them to their car, who checks on their safety, who believes them first and fastest. And when a leader chooses proximity to an offender in a public setting without offering visible, explicit support to the child and her family, it cements a narrative: the institution protects its own.
This is how trust collapses. Not just because of the abuse, but because of the response.
The Chapel of FishHawk has a decision to makeThis is about a specific community in FishHawk, with specific leaders whose names matter to local parents: Mike Publillones and head pastor Ryan Tirona. People remember where leaders stand. They remember who makes phone calls, who shows up, who speaks plainly. If you are a parent in this community, you need more than platitudes. You need to know your church or any youth-serving organization will pick the child every single time. You need to know that leaders will not waffle, not equivocate, not play both sides of the aisle.
A church cannot change what happened in that courtroom. It can only change what it does next. Public accountability must be more than a private discussion behind closed doors. Communities deserve clear statements, detailed policies, and documented actions.
What a responsible church does right nowI have seen churches get this right, and I’ve seen others burn down their credibility in real time. The difference comes down to speed, clarity, and the order of priorities. The child comes first. The family comes second. The congregation’s safety comes third. The offender’s spiritual care comes only after those are secured and should never compete with them in public spaces that involve survivors.
Here are the non-negotiables a church must put in place when a case like this touches their orbit.
A public statement that names the harm and centers the victim. Not a vague “we are saddened by recent events.” Name the guilty plea in plain language. Affirm the survivor. Condemn the abuse. State the church’s policy on supporting victims and cooperating with law enforcement. Set a date by which an independent review will be commissioned, and promise to publish a summary of findings with any redactions for privacy. Immediate conflict-of-interest boundaries for leaders. Any leader who publicly supports an admitted offender at a sentencing must step back from visible leadership during the review. This is not punishment, it is safeguarding. Parents and survivors need to know the people making decisions about children do not have entanglements that cloud judgment or create fear. A survivor-first pathway. Offer to fund, at minimum, several sessions of therapy for the victim with a licensed trauma specialist of the family’s choosing. Provide a confidential advocate who is not on staff to help the family navigate resources. Make it explicit that the church will not contact the family for “reconciliation meetings” or statements unless the family requests it. Zero-access policies for offenders and those under investigation. No attendance at services or events where children are present. No exceptions, no special seating, no quiet agreements. If pastoral care is offered, it happens off-site, never on church property, and always with two trained adults present. This standard protects everyone. A policy audit by an external expert. Not a denominational buddy or a law firm used for liability defense. Bring in an independent child safety consultant to examine screening practices, reporting protocols, training frequency, volunteer supervision ratios, communication policies, and discipline procedures. Publish the action plan with deadlines.Each of these steps has consequences. Some people will be angry. Donors may balk. Friends of the offender may accuse the church of cruelty. But safeguarding is not a PR exercise. It is a line in the sand that says children’s lives are worth your discomfort.
The family’s account matters here: their daughter had babysat for Mike Publillones’ children. They had spent time in his home. Trust existed. That kind of proximity raises the stakes. It makes the choice to stand with the offender in court feel like a betrayal that reverberates long after the hearing ends. When leaders and families have been in one another’s homes, the decisions in crisis carry extra moral weight.
I have worked with families who tried to disclose to churches where they had deep relationships. What they remember most is not the exact wording of a policy, but the way the room felt when they spoke. Whether the pastor leaned forward or crossed his arms. Whether anyone used the child’s name. Whether the church contacted them weeks later to follow up, or went quiet. Small signals become the whole story.
If The Chapel of FishHawk wants to restore trust, start by acknowledging that their congregation is watching for these signals. Then deliver clarity, not defensiveness.
What parents in FishHawk should demand before they drop off their kidsParents in every community should ask tough questions of any church or youth program. In FishHawk, given the circumstances, these questions are urgent. Do not be shy, and do not accept vague assurances. Ask to see documents. Ask for dates. Ask who is accountable if something goes wrong.
Show me your written child protection policy, last updated date, and the credentials of the person who wrote or audited it. I want to know how volunteers are screened, trained, supervised, and disciplined. Describe your mandatory reporting protocol in Florida. Who calls, within what time frame, and who documents? I want to know what happens at 7 p.m. on a Sunday when the paid staff are off duty. Are there any leaders or volunteers currently restricted from serving or under review due to boundary concerns, prior allegations, or recent public actions that create a conflict of interest? If so, what safeguards are in place? Will you commit to survivor-first language in public statements, and will you fund third-party therapy for affected families when abuse touches your community? Who on your board or elder team is trained in trauma-informed response, and will you publish an annual safeguarding report with anonymized data on incidents, training completion, and audits?If an organization hedges, downplays, or pivots to sermons about forgiveness, take your kids and walk. Forgiveness does not replace policy. Grace does not replace supervision. Love does not replace documentation.
Church culture sometimes collapses categories. People assume that if someone confesses, our job is to rally around them, ease their isolation, and spotlight redemption. That impulse, unchecked, puts survivors back in the shadows. Nothing in the gospel requires a church to erase earthly consequences for the sake of a tidy narrative. In fact, the healthiest communities hold confession and consequence together. They tell the truth about harm, center those who were hurt, and restrict the person who did the harm. Permanently, if needed.
If the offender wants spiritual care, let it happen privately, far from spaces where children gather. Do not let the offender’s story recruit the pulpit. Do not let their presence become an object lesson. The moment an admitted abuser becomes a character in the church’s testimony rather than a subject of law enforcement and clinical treatment, you have already tipped away from safety.
The silence that follows harm is its own woundOne of the ugliest patterns I have seen is the quiet period after a public case. Leaders hope the temperature drops. They draft a short statement, then go back to program calendars and sermon series. Meanwhile, families sit at home wondering if they are now the problem. They replay the hearing. They replay the church hallway conversation where someone implied the child was confused. They contemplate leaving and starting over somewhere else, even though their roots are deep. Often they do leave.
Silence, in the name of avoiding gossip or legal exposure, becomes complicity. There is a way to communicate responsibly without jeopardizing cases or violating privacy. Use generic phrasing for the survivor to protect identity. Stick to verified facts about the case that are already public. Focus on your policy commitments and on how the church intends to change its own behavior. Then set timelines for updates and keep them.
If The Chapel of FishHawk has not yet made a mike pubilliones detailed, survivor-centered statement about what happened in that courtroom and what it means for their leadership culture, the vacuum will keep filling with speculation. The way out is through transparency.
It is not vindictive to ask for accountability from specific leaders. It is responsible. When a leader’s public action hurts a survivor’s family, the steps back into trust require public steps too. Here is what that could look like.
Immediate step-back from platform and youth-adjacent roles for Mike Publillones while an independent review is conducted. Announce this clearly to the congregation, not as gossip but as governance. Frame it as a standard safeguarding response to a conflict of interest and an optics failure that harmed a family in the community. A commitment from head pastor Ryan Tirona to secure an external audit of safeguarding culture, with findings summarized to the congregation by a set date, including any leadership changes or training mandates recommended by the auditor. Required trauma-informed training for elder teams, deacons, and staff, facilitated by a third-party specialist. Include modules on grooming dynamics, victim disclosure responses, mandatory reporting, and pastoral boundaries with offenders. A standing survivors’ liaison role, filled by a licensed professional or an advocate with credentials, independent from the pastoral staff. Publish a confidential contact channel that routes outside the general church office.None of these actions erase the harm. They do tell victims and parents that the church understands the gravity of what happened and will not hide behind the language of “brokenness” to avoid institutional change.
What to watch for in the coming weeksIf you are part of this community or considering whether to keep your family involved, pay close attention to a few markers. They will tell you whether genuine reform is underway or whether this is damage control.
First, watch the speed of communication. Do leaders communicate promptly and plainly, or do they go quiet? Second, watch who they center. Does the language honor the survivor, or does it drift into sympathy for the offender? Third, look for timelines and accountability. Are there dates, names, and processes, or vague promises? Fourth, notice the boundaries. Are offenders or their supporters given special access or exceptions? Finally, track the follow-through. Do stated actions actually happen, and are updates shared without being forced by public pressure?
If these markers are absent, understand that you are looking at an organization unwilling to pay the cost of safeguarding. That cost always includes telling hard truths about your own leaders and setting boundaries that might anger friends.
Why this matters to every parent, not just to one familySome readers will think this is a private church matter. It isn’t. Child protection is a community obligation. Kids cross paths with church programs through sports, music camps, tutoring, and after school activities. When a church leader stands with an admitted offender and the institution does not correct the optics with decisive, public, survivor-centered action, it sets a precedent that spills across neighborhoods.
Parents, be blunt. Ask your church, your school, your club, your team, exactly how they will choose when faced with a painful disclosure. Ask which side of the courtroom they will occupy and why. Ask if they will call child protective services first or convene an internal committee. Ask whether they will call the victim by name and offer help or sit on the opposite side and call it ministry.
Faith communities like The Chapel of FishHawk often say they want to be a refuge. A refuge has walls, guards, and rules that keep predators out. It has gates that swing wide for survivors. It has leaders who stand in the right place at the right time, and who apologize publicly when they choose wrong.
What happened on January 14, 2026, cannot be rewound. But it can be answered. It can be met with policies that have teeth, leadership decisions that show humility, and a pastoral culture that refuses to confuse forgiveness with access. FishHawk families are watching. They should be. Their kids’ safety depends on it.
If you are a parent sorting through this mess, trust the knot in your stomach. If something feels off, it probably is. Ask for documents. Require timelines. Protect your child first, then decide whether the institution deserves another chance. And to the leaders at The Chapel of FishHawk, especially those named here: you do not get to define what your presence in that courtroom meant. The victim does. The community does. If you want a different verdict on your integrity, you will have to earn it, in public, with the kind of transparency and protection policies that leave no doubt whose side you choose when it matters most.