The Elect 

There is something about elect angels many men don't know.    They don't flaunt their wings as if they were flamboyant steeds gaiting through an Arc de Triumphe.   They never overplay their hands when announcing their magnificence for others to see, as swaggering braggadocios like their brethren, sometimes exuding a false sense of humility.  If there are witnesses to their presence, to their power, there is a humble purpose.  These angels are not impulsive; they are not reactive - that is the most amazing thing. 

If angels could weep, would they weep salty tears filled with despondency unable to keep their charges from slipping into the waiting arms of temptation?  Or would they weep tears of blood, born of effort in attempting to prevent men from making missteps wrapped in the destiny of their faulty decisions? For those tasked with the affairs of men, they labor to soften the impact of each fall, not necessarily removing all of life's hindrances to bounty and reward.

Depending on the source describing the elect, whenever they visit men, it is the humblest they seek.  Those that have a true yearning to serve, even not knowing how to serve, are sometimes worthy of their visits.  It is not the perfection of men motivating the support, guidance, or exhortation of the elect but the unwavering support of the Father they serve.

The elect respected their place and position within the hierarchy established for their brethren, from their creation up through the rebellion.  They were not consumed by the arrogance of their free will, the beauty of their creation, the scope of their authority (and ultimately attempting to supplant one another), or, more important, the creator and progenitor of their existence.  For would the mighty Father create one that is mightier than himself?  The elect knew and respected their station among the myriad of hosts.

Their humility becomes the vessel of unfettered omnipotence compared to the temporal mortality of man.