St. Elizabeth's Church, Marburg

Stand still for a moment on the paving outside and look up. Two slender towers of reddish sandstone rise above you, their stone warm even on a grey day. Behind you, the old town climbs the hill in steep lanes toward the castle. Here, at the foot of that slope, the ground is flat and quiet. This church was built on the spot where a young woman cared for the sick, and where she was buried.

That woman was Elizabeth of Hungary. She was born in 1207, the daughter of a Hungarian king. As a child she was sent to the court of Thuringia, in central Germany, to be raised alongside her future husband. She married Ludwig, the Landgrave of Thuringia, a powerful regional ruler. By most accounts it was a close and affectionate marriage. Then, in 1227, Ludwig died of illness while travelling to join a crusade. Elizabeth was barely twenty.

What she did next shocked the nobility around her. Instead of remarrying or retiring to comfort, she gave away much of her wealth. She came to Marburg and founded a hospital here in 1228. She nursed the poor and the sick with her own hands, washing wounds and feeding people that others avoided. Her spiritual director, Conrad of Marburg, was known as a severe and harsh man. Many historians believe his strict demands wore her down.

Elizabeth died in 1231, at about twenty-four years old. Almost immediately, people began coming to her grave and reporting miracles. Only four years later, in 1235, the Pope declared her a saint. That is remarkably fast, even by medieval standards. Pilgrims arrived in growing numbers, and Marburg suddenly needed a church worthy of them.

The builders were the Teutonic Order, a religious order of knights founded during the crusades. Elizabeth's family had connections to them, and they took charge of her hospital and her grave. Work on this church began in 1235, the same year she was canonized. Here is the first surprise. This is one of the earliest purely Gothic churches in Germany. Gothic is the style of pointed arches, tall windows, and ribbed vaults that came from France. Before this, German churches were mostly heavier and rounder.

As you walk inside, notice how open the space feels. This is a hall church. That means the central nave and the side aisles rise to the same height. There are no dim, low aisles hiding in the shadows. Light comes in evenly from the tall windows, and the slender columns lift your eye straight up to the vaults. Building it took decades, and the church was consecrated in 1283, while the towers were finished later.

Now look toward the eastern end. Instead of a single rounded end, the church opens into three apses, arranged like the leaves of a clover. Architects call this a trefoil choir. Some of the stained glass up there dates back to the thirteenth century. When the sun is behind it, the colours fall softly onto the stone floor. Take a moment to find the deep reds and blues, and to notice how old glass ripples slightly.

In the north part of the church you will find Elizabeth's mausoleum, the memorial over her original grave. Look down at the stone step in front of it. Here is the second surprise. The step is hollowed and worn. For centuries, pilgrims knelt here in prayer, and their knees slowly wore the stone away. It is one of the few places where you can see devotion recorded directly in rock.

The greatest treasure is the Shrine of Saint Elizabeth, kept in the sacristy. It is a large gilded reliquary from the thirteenth century, made to hold her bones. It is shaped like a small church, covered with figures, gilded metal, and gemstones. Medieval goldsmiths made it to show how precious her memory was. It is one of the finest pieces of medieval goldsmith work in Germany. Access to the sacristy can depend on the church's arrangements, so ask at the entrance.

But the shrine is empty, and here the story turns. In the sixteenth century, the Protestant Reformation swept through this region. Philip of Hesse, a descendant of Elizabeth, became a Protestant ruler. In 1539, he had her relics removed from the shrine. Protestants rejected the veneration of saints' bones, and he wanted to end the pilgrimages. Since then, the church has been a Lutheran church. Yet many Catholic visitors still come to honour her today.

Around the church you will also see older figures and carvings. Look for statues of Elizabeth herself. She is often shown with bread, a jug, or a beggar at her feet. There is a well-known legend about her. According to the tale, she was carrying bread to the poor in secret. When she was stopped and questioned, the bread in her cloak turned into roses. It is folklore, not history, but it explains why roses appear so often around her image.

The church also holds a much more recent and more uncomfortable chapter. In 1946, the coffins of Paul von Hindenburg and his wife were reburied in one of the tower chapels. Hindenburg was a German field marshal of the First World War and later president of Germany. In 1933 he appointed Hitler as chancellor. His burial here is still debated, and the church presents it with historical information rather than honour.

Before you leave, step back outside and turn once more toward the towers. Notice how the red sandstone changes colour as the light moves across it. Listen to the traffic and the students passing on their way into town. Then look up the hill toward the old town and the castle. Elizabeth walked these slopes nearly eight hundred years ago. The stone under your feet is the ground she chose to work on.