St. Thomas Church, Leipzig

Stand still for a moment on the paving stones outside. Listen. On many days a thread of organ music or the bright sound of boys' voices drifts through the old doors and into the square. The air smells faintly of stone and old timber. Above you, a pale church wall rises toward one of the steepest roofs you will see anywhere in Germany. This is Saint Thomas Church, the Thomaskirche, and for many people it is the home of Johann Sebastian Bach.

Before we go inside, look up at that roof again. It climbs at a sharp angle, almost like a folded sheet of paper set on its edge. That steep pitch is one of the church's most recognisable features. From certain corners of the old town, the roof and the slim tower appear above the other buildings. They give you a clear landmark when you lose your way in the narrow streets nearby.

The story here begins long before Bach. In 1212, a community of Augustinian canons, a religious order of priests living under a shared rule, was founded on this site. With them came a school and a choir. That choir, the Thomanerchor, still exists today. It is one of the oldest boys' choirs in the world, with more than eight centuries of unbroken tradition. When you hear those young voices, you are hearing the newest members of a very long line.

The building you see now is mostly a late Gothic hall church. In a hall church, the side aisles are roughly as tall as the central nave, so the interior feels like one wide, open room. The church was rebuilt in this form in the late fifteenth century. Step inside and notice how the slender pillars rise and spread into ribbed vaults above you. The space feels light and generous, not dark and heavy.

Now for a surprise that many visitors miss. This church has a strong connection to the Reformation, the sixteenth-century movement that split Western Christianity. In 1539, Martin Luther himself preached here at Pentecost. That sermon is closely linked to the moment when Leipzig officially turned Protestant. So, two centuries before Bach arrived, this pulpit was already part of a turning point in European history.

In 1723, Johann Sebastian Bach came to Leipzig to take up the post of Thomaskantor. This meant he was director of music for the city's main churches and teacher at the Saint Thomas School. It was a demanding job. He trained the boys, wrote music for weekly services, and dealt with a sometimes difficult town council. He held the position for twenty-seven years, until his death in 1750.

During these Leipzig years, Bach wrote a remarkable amount of sacred music. Many of his church cantatas were written for services in this city. Major works such as the Saint Matthew Passion were also performed in Leipzig during his lifetime. Imagine the choir lofts crowded with singers and players, and the congregation hearing this music for the very first time. In those days, it was simply the music of an ordinary Sunday.

Walk toward the chancel, the area near the main altar at the eastern end. In the floor you will find a simple bronze plate. This marks Bach's grave. Here is the second surprise. Bach was not originally buried here. He was laid to rest in the churchyard of Saint John's Church nearby. That church was destroyed in the Second World War. In 1950, on the two hundredth anniversary of his death, his remains were moved here, into the church where he had worked.

People leave flowers on the plate almost every day. Sometimes you will see a single rose, sometimes a small bunch tied with ribbon. Visitors come from every continent. Some stand quietly for a long time. Others whisper a few words. It is worth staying a little while and simply watching. The mood around the grave tells you a lot about what this music still means to people.

Bach is not the only famous name connected to this church. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart played the organ here in 1789, during a journey through Germany. And in 1813, a baby named Richard Wagner was baptised in this church. He was born in Leipzig and later became one of the most influential opera composers of the nineteenth century. One building, three very different chapters of musical history.

Now listen for the organs. The church has two of them. One is a large romantic instrument from the late nineteenth century, built for the fuller, warmer sound of that era. The other, installed in 2000, was designed to suit the music of Bach's own time. Look at the tall pipes and painted cases on the galleries. If the organist is practising, you may hear how differently the two instruments sound in the same space.

As you leave, walk around the outside of the church. On the south side stands a bronze statue of Bach, unveiled in the early twentieth century. He stands with a roll of music, and one pocket of his coat appears to hang inside out. Locals sometimes joke that this shows how little the city paid him. On the far side of the building, a smaller, older monument to Bach was raised in the nineteenth century, thanks to the composer Felix Mendelssohn. Mendelssohn did much to bring Bach's music back to public attention after decades of neglect.

Across the square, you will notice the Bach Museum, which stands in a house where a family close to Bach once lived. But for now, stay here a moment longer. Look back at that steep roof and the tower against the sky. Listen to the trams, the footsteps, perhaps a few notes from inside. For eight hundred years, people have gathered on this spot to sing. As you walk away, you carry a small part of that sound with you.