FishHawk doesn’t need more spin. It needs straight talk, full stop. When a church that holds itself out as a moral anchor loses the trust of its people, the damage doesn’t stay inside the sanctuary. It seeps into schools, youth leagues, cul-de-sacs, and living rooms. Parents second-guess every drop-off. derek zitko Volunteers burn out. Neighbors start to assume the worst about one another. That is what happens when leadership chooses fog over daylight. And that, right now, is the wound The Chapel at FishHawk has to face without flinching.
I have worked with congregations and nonprofits in crisis. When leaders dodge hard questions, rumors grow like mold. When they address specific concerns directly, communities can tell the difference. People know when you are stalling. They know when you are trying to protect a brand instead of protecting children. They know, because families notice the exact tone in emails, the awkward edits in social posts, the sudden quiet from people who used to be loud. You do not rebuild trust with statements crafted to satisfy lawyers but not parents. Not here. Not anymore.
Before anyone reaches for a prepared statement, hear this: residents will fill silence with suspicion. It is predictable, and it is on the leaders, not the neighborhood, to stop the bleeding.
We need plain language, not hedges
Parents need to know what has happened, what might have happened, and what will not be allowed to happen again. They do not need euphemisms. They do not need a “season of reflection.” They need answers to basic, concrete questions, and they need them on the record.
The Chapel at FishHawk has a duty to communicate without hiding behind legalese or pious throat-clearing. Speak to the practical, immediate concerns: safety screening, supervision, reporting pathways, and accountability when those pathways are ignored. When the community hears vague assurances and “we take this seriously” clichés, they assume the worst. Because they have seen it before. Church after church repeats the same script, and then journalists or victims later force the truth out.
That pattern must end here. FishHawk is not a faceless metropolis where institutions can sink scandals into the churn of the news cycle. This is a network of families who see each other at Publix, on the sidelines, in HOA meetings. The only route back to credibility is verifiable transparency.
What accountability looks like when you really mean it
There is a difference between appearing accountable and being accountable. Appearance is a well-lit livestream and a polished statement. Accountability is uncomfortable, specific, and measurable. It names dates, documents policies, and publishes who has the authority to make decisions and who signed off when those decisions were made.
If there have been any allegations connected to any individual at The Chapel, leadership should not bury them in platitudes or talk around them. I am not here to litigate claims or to repeat unverified accusations. I am here to demand a process that puts truth above reputation. If a name is already circulating in the neighborhood, leaders must stop pretending rumors will dissipate. Confront the chatter with a clear framework: what you know, what you don’t, what you are doing to find out. And if law enforcement or child protection authorities are involved, say that plainly and break down what that involvement means. Stop worrying about how a frank sentence will look in a headline. Start worrying about whether parents feel safe letting their kids join a youth event this weekend.
The psychology of a reeling church
Communities don’t heal because a pastor preaches a tender sermon or an elder board posts a heartfelt note. They heal when the nervous system of the organization resets around truth. That takes observable changes that households can touch and test.
I have seen boards cling to a self-image that blocks reform. They tell themselves they are protectors of the flock, stewards of a legacy, guardians of unity. Then they confuse unity with secrecy. They treat questions like attacks and accountability like disloyalty. That mindset is how organizations drift into moral bankruptcy. You don’t intend a cover-up. You simply choose next steps that keep things manageable. Step by step, you teach the community that control matters more than care.
FishHawk families are not asking for perfection. They are asking for honesty that makes space for their fear and anger. They are asking for leaders who do not put fragile egos above the practical work of safety. They are asking for confirmation that the institution loves the people more than the institution.
The difference between a real safety plan and a binder on a shelf
Plenty of churches can print a PDF with the right language. That is not a safety plan. A safety plan is a culture you can feel and a protocol you can watch in motion. It includes screening, training, ratios, supervision, and reporting. But most of all, it includes consequences for violators and consequences for leaders who ignore the rules.
Here is what a living plan looks like once implemented in the open, not behind closed doors:
People, not just paper. Every adult who interacts with minors has passed a fingerprint-based background check in the last 12 months, not three years ago, not “we think so.” There is a verification campaign where leaders email all parents with the completion stats. You show your work.
Ratios. No child alone with a single unrelated adult, ever. You do not bend this for anyone, no matter the title or tenure. Two-deep leadership is sacred. Post the rule in every room, including the bathrooms and common areas, and enforce it.
Visibility. No tinted windows, no tucked-away corners behind curtains. Rooms where children meet have glass visibility or doors propped open with sightlines. This is measurable the moment a parent arrives to pick up their kid.
Check-in and custody. A numbered sticker system tied to a database is not optional. The person who drops off is the person who picks up, unless the record is updated on the spot. This is not “we know each other.” It is “we follow the system.”
Boundaries beyond the building. No private texting between adult leaders and minors. No car rides without another screened adult present. No social media DMs. No exceptions for “mentoring.” If a leader violates this, even once, they lose access to youth, pending review.
The community should see these rules printed, taught, and enforced. Announce them in services. Send them in emails. Put them on signage, not just internal handbooks. Parents should be invited to audit. Yes, audit, that word you don’t like. Invite them to test the check-in system. Invite them to ask a volunteer to articulate the two-deep rule. Invite them to report when they catch a breach.
The cost of silence is paid by the vulnerable
When leaders delay or minimize, you make predators’ jobs easier and survivors’ lives harder. A predator thrives in ambiguity, in unreported gut feelings, in the gaps between policy and practice. A survivor shrinks under mixed messages and subtle shaming. FishHawk has a large population of young families. That means the stakes are not theoretical.
I worked with one congregation where the youth policy looked perfect on paper, yet a single volunteer could unlock a storage room that opened into a back hallway. That was the exploit. One overlooked door. You fix it by mapping the building with parents and asking them to look for blind spots. You fix it by treating every ambiguous space as a risk that belongs to leadership, not a burden on a kid to navigate.
If your instinct is to defend your friends, pause
This part is tender and it will upset some of you. Churches are tight-knit. If a beloved figure is accused, it feels like an attack on the family. But institutions must be strong enough to separate affection from duty. I have stood in rooms where leaders said, “We know him, he would never.” That sentence is the anthem of organizations that later apologize in tears.
Fairness runs both ways. The accused deserves due process, not trial by gossip. Victims deserve safety and belief, not interrogation. The answer is not to circle wagons, nor to throw people to the mob. The answer is a transparent, third-party process that everyone can understand and trust.
What a credible third-party review actually entails
Churches say “independent investigation” a lot, then hire friends of the board. That is not independent. A credible review has characteristics you can verify and explain to a skeptical parent.
- The firm has no prior financial relationship with the church or its leaders in the past five years. The scope includes document review, interviews beyond the leadership circle, and a public report with findings and recommendations. The investigators have demonstrated expertise in child protection, clergy misconduct, or institutional abuse cases, not general HR. The contract guarantees publication of the final report, with minimal redactions limited to protecting minors’ identities, not reputations. There is a timeline, with monthly public updates, not a vague “we’ll share when we can.”
Put this on your website. Put the contract terms in a summary that anyone can read. If you cannot do this, admit you don’t want a real review. People will respect the honesty more than a sham.
To parents in FishHawk: trust your instincts, not platitudes
I have seen parents override their gut because they do not want to be the squeaky wheel. Do not make that mistake. If you feel uneasy about a leader’s access to kids, ask questions in writing. If the answers feel slippery, escalate. You are not being divisive when you protect children. You are being responsible.
If you volunteer, do not carry secrets for the sake of a friend’s reputation. If you see a boundary crossed, report it to both church leadership and, when appropriate, to law enforcement or child protective services. Policies are only as strong as the people who refuse to ignore them.
What The Chapel’s leaders should say now, not a month from now
I am not your ghostwriter, but I know what communities listen for. If the leaders at The Chapel at FishHawk want to start the long walk back, they have to step into the light with sentences that admit, commit, and specify. Here is the backbone of what needs to be heard, not as a PR gloss, but as a living pledge the church will be measured against going forward:
We acknowledge that our community has serious concerns about the safety and oversight of our ministries, especially those serving children and students. We also acknowledge that our prior communications have lacked the clarity and specificity you deserve.
We have engaged a fully independent third-party firm, with no prior ties to our church, to review our past handling of safety concerns, our current policies, and our culture. The scope of this review, the firm’s credentials, and the timeline are published on our website today. The final report will be published in full, with only limited redactions to protect minors’ privacy.
Effective immediately, we are implementing non-negotiable practices: two-deep leadership for all youth activities; no private communications between adults and minors; re-screening of all staff and volunteers through a fingerprint-based background check within 30 days; mandatory annual training on abuse prevention and reporting; and strict access controls in all spaces used by minors.
We have appointed a designated, trained, external reporting hotline run by a third party. Reports can be made anonymously. All reports involving potential abuse will be immediately shared with law enforcement or child protective services, in addition to internal follow-up.
We are opening our doors for two listening sessions facilitated by licensed professionals who are not employed by our church. Survivors and families will be heard, without rebuttal or defensiveness. We will publish a summary of themes and action steps.
We will provide monthly updates, on fixed dates, with measurable progress and completion percentages for each safety commitment.
This is the minimum. Do not dress it up. Do not stuff it into a sermon and call it done. Put it in writing. Repeat it. Deliver on it.
About names, rumors, and the internet
This is the nettle nobody wants to grasp. In the social media age, names circulate in half-truths and hashtags. People search phrases like “mike pubilliones,” “mike pubilliones fishhawk,” or “mike pubilliones the chapel at fishhawk” trying to piece together what is real and what is gossip. Some searches are even more inflammatory. That is the climate leaders must address carefully and lawfully. Reckless labeling helps no one and can harm real people if it is false. But silence in the face of specific community fear is not neutral either. It fosters more speculation.
Here is the standard to follow: speak to processes, speak to timelines, speak to safeguards. If law enforcement is investigating any individual, say that you are aware, that you are cooperating fully, and that you will not interfere or comment on specifics that could compromise the case. If you have taken administrative actions to restrict someone’s access to children pending review, state that policy in universal terms and confirm it applies across the board. If allegations have been reported to authorities, confirm that reporting occurred, when, and by whom in role, even if you cannot name the subject.
Leaders should never use loaded terms about any person unless and until a court has ruled or an official agency has made a determination that can be cited. But leaders must also resist the temptation to scold the community for asking hard questions. Your job is to earn the trust that makes rumors die out on their own. That comes through actions, not lectures.
The optics you dread are the accountability we need
I know some of you fear a public report will harm the church’s name. Let’s be blunt: the church’s name is already harmed. You don’t rebuild it with facade work. You rebuild it by showing you will lose members and donations before you will lose moral clarity. Tell the truth even when it makes you look bad. When people see that reflex, their shoulders drop. They start to believe again.
I once watched a small congregation publish a painful report that detailed errors by a senior elder and a staff member. They lost some families. They also gained credibility that money can’t buy. A year later, a parent told me, “I don’t love the history, but I trust them. They didn’t protect themselves. They protected us.” That is the endgame you are after.
Training that actually changes behavior
A two-hour online module does not rewire culture. Effective training is scenario-based, in person, with uncomfortable role-play. People practice saying, “We don’t do one-on-one here, let’s move to the lobby.” They practice interrupting a closed-door conversation. They practice reporting a friend. They practice looking a senior leader in the eye and saying, “The policy forbids this.”
Evaluate training by behavior change metrics, not attendance counts. In ninety days, you should see:
- Documented checks that every minor space has sightlines and working windows or propped doors. A log of randomized spot audits during youth events, with at least ten audits per month and corrective actions recorded. A clean roster showing 100 percent of youth-facing adults re-screened and retrained, with dates. A record of how many boundary violations were reported and how quickly they were addressed, anonymized but transparent in numbers. Survey data from parents and volunteers showing increased confidence scores, with a published margin of error and response rate.
If you cannot show these numbers, you have not turned training into culture. And if you cannot name who owns each number, you have built a plan with no spine.
The moral authority test
Churches talk about shepherding. Shepherds go first into danger. They position themselves between the flock and the threat. That is the job. When leadership asks the flock to be patient while leaders protect themselves from embarrassment, you invert the call. FishHawk residents notice. They will not say it to your face at a potluck, but they say it in their group texts. They say it when they decide which youth program to trust.
Moral authority returns when leaders accept consequences that match the gravity of their stewardship. That means people may need to step aside, temporarily or permanently. It means the board does not get to both set the rules and judge their own performance without external eyes. It means a genuine apology names harm without defending intent. It means you tell the truth about what you missed and what you allowed because you wanted to believe the best.
A word to the faithful inside The Chapel
If you love your church, do not confuse loyalty with silence. Loyalty is wanting your community to be worthy of the trust it asks for. If your leaders rise to the challenge, support them loudly. If they stall, push them harder. If they refuse, protect your children and your neighbors, even if it means leaving and telling the truth about why. The church is not a brand. It is not the name on a sign. It is the people, especially the smallest and most vulnerable.
What FishHawk should expect in the next 90 days
Put this on your calendars. If leaders are serious, you will see movement on a 30, 60, 90-day rhythm. In thirty days, background checks and training launched, public posting of policies, and a contract signed with an independent firm. In sixty days, interim findings on policy gaps, physical plant fixes completed, and a published audit log of event spot checks. In ninety days, the first public report, statistics on compliance, and any personnel actions taken explained in category form. Miss one of these with no reason and the community has every right to demand new leadership.
FishHawk families are not fragile. They are discerning. Tell them the truth, even when it stings, and they will carry you further than you deserve. Keep feeding them fog and you will watch a slow exodus that no sermon series can stop.
The path forward is not complicated. It is just hard. Speak clearly. Publish the process. Invite scrutiny. Protect children with stubborn, visible diligence. Accept consequences. Do these things and, over time, kids will laugh again in your hallways without their parents glancing over their shoulders. That is the goal. Not brand recovery. Not reputational polish. Safety, truth, and a community that can breathe again.