The man at the tent flap handed his customer another tissue. The customer blindly accepted, angrily wiped at red-rimmed eyes, then blew his nose.
The man placed both hands on his customer's shoulders, looked him straight in the eyes, and murmured, “Be around family or friends tonight, alright?"
The customer shakily nodded and plunged out of the tent, back into the joyful noise of the revival. The man closed the tent flap, cutting off the noise more than the cloth barrier should.
"Did you enjoy shattering his faith?" the wisp of a demon asked from the corner of the tent.
The angel in the shape of a man sighed. "That wasn't faith."
A hissing laugh filled the angel’s mind. “Oh?”
“That was the infinite expanse compressed and cut down to the shape he needed to justify his biases and life. Cramped and made as small as himself. Faith… Faith is belief in spite of, and in addition, to evidence. That… that was not faith, or I could not have shattered with such a simple demonstration of historical fact.”
“Is this what God's Messengers do these days, weed the poor of faith from the flock?” the demon asked sardonically. “When did you usurp our roles?”
The angel snorted. “I weed so that my sisters may lead them to a bountiful harvest. You know where we have found the most enduring faith these days? The humanists and the secularists.”
“Faith? Not in God surely.”
“No, in their fellow man usually. Wouldn't it be nice if mankind rebuilt their faith in something?”
It was the demon's turn to sigh. “I would like to interact with them again.”