We don't believe in pain
I get the feeling he'd knock my teeth out if I started looking, or talking, the wrong way - at him, or anyone else.
Not because he's crazy. Not because he's bad. Conviction is a hell of a drug, and he's hooked. Et cetera.
He'd start with my teeth, and then he'd move on to my eyes. In that last glance: what a shame that this is what all this devotion's for - some big man up in the sky none of us're actually sure's there.
But I'd love him for it. In a sad sort of way.
Makes a good story.