42  G E N E R . S TA R K “But don’t we need to know the languages to truly know the meaning of Scripture?” Claus asked slowly and intuitively. “God can work in any language. Martin Luther stressed that the Word needed to be translated into German so all could read it themselves.” “Indeed, the power of God’s Word is not limited by language,” Claus concluded with deep introspection. We learned to preach in German in our homiletics class. We all knew we would serve German-speaking families. After one of those classes, I became the devil’s advocate: “Herr Claus, should we not look ahead and learn to preach in English? We are in America and all will need to learn English.” “But Herr Hertwig, we need to reach them now, where they are.” Claus was quite practical. “But we must teach the young at least, so they can carry on in English. We must be teachers too. We must begin schools as we begin parishes.” My philosophy had begun to solidify. The seminary was far from the noise and bustle of the big city that stretched to the Mississippi waterfront, yet it lay near us, ready to educate us in ways that our professors could not dream. Our hours were filled with books, and our days and nights were crammed with pastoral theology, liturgy and chanting, and learning the instruction of the Catechism. Yet the city called with its hideous smile and tempting voices to teach us the ways of the world. In its own postwar, unearthly way, the city of St. Louis showed us the “world” spoken of by Christ Himself. On a Saturday Herr Martens and I walked to the edge of the “Bloody Third Ward.” It was July, and though the heat and drenched air were oppressive at the seminary, the crowded city dripped with the stench of death. People lay on the roofs of the tenements, gasping for a breath of fresh air, and children ran dirty and panting in the streets. Martens had grown up on a farm in Illinois and knew little of the city. His plain, woven clothes and timid mannerisms set