Charles Ellicott Commentary Matthew 17:27

"But, lest we cause them to stumble, go thou to the sea, and cast a hook, and take up the fish that first cometh up; and when thou hast opened his mouth, thou shalt find a shekel: that take, and give unto them for me and thee." — Matthew 17:27 (ASV)

Lest we should offend them — Those who note the finer shades of language can scarcely fail to trace in these words the tone of what we would describe in a human teacher as half-playful, half-serious irony. When they were last at Capernaum, the disciples—with Peter probably as their spokesman (Matthew 15:12; Matthew 15:15)—had remonstrated with their Master for proclaiming a bold, broad principle of spiritual morality against the traditions of the Schools: “Do you know that the Pharisees were offended when they heard that statement?” Now He proclaims another principle, equally bold and far-reaching, and just as certain to offend. He reminds the disciple of his former fear, sees that a similar feeling is already rising in his mind, and recognizes that, within certain limits, it is legitimate.

To have refused to pay the didrachma on purely personal grounds would have been to prematurely claim the title of the Christ, the “Son of God,” which He had told His disciples at this crisis not to claim for Him (Matthew 16:20). To have done so on general grounds, common to Himself and others, would have been to utter a truth for which people were not prepared and which they were certain to pervert. Those who had not learned the higher law of the free gift of love would be tempted to make their freedom an excuse for giving nothing. Devout and generous minds would be shocked at what would seem to them to cut off the chief support for the outward glory of the House of God. The spirit in which our Lord spoke and acted was the same as that which guided St. Paul’s life: it is good to surrender even the freedom we might rightly claim, if by it thy brother stumbleth, or is offended, or is made weak (Romans 14:21).

A piece of money — The Greek gives the name of the coin, the stater. It was valued as equal to four drachmae and would therefore pay the didrachma for both Peter and his Master. Incidentally, we may note the light this throws on the poverty of our Lord and His disciples. They had returned from their wanderings in the north of Palestine, which took some three or four weeks, and they were now absolutely penniless—not so much as a stater between them. The money was to be given for both, and in this respect, as has been said, our Lord includes Peter in the list of those who, as “children of the kingdom,” might have claimed exemption. No payment is made for the other disciples; most probably they had their own homes, where the didrachma would be requested, and were not living with Peter.

We cannot ignore the many points of contrast that distinguish this narrative from our Lord’s miracles in general.

1. There is no actual record that a miracle was performed at all. We expect the narrative to end with the words, “and he went and found it as had been said to him,” but we do not find them. The story is told for the sake of the teaching, not the wonder. People have inferred that a miracle must have been performed from a literal interpretation of the promise.
2. On this assumption, the wonder stands alone in its nature and surroundings. It does not originate in our Lord’s compassion or depend on faith in the receiver, as in the miracles of healing, nor does it set forth a spiritual truth, like that of the withered fig-tree. It is, therefore, distinct and peculiar. This fact by itself would perhaps not be of much, if any, weight against a direct statement, but it may be allowed some significance in the exceptional and therefore conspicuous absence of such a statement.

On these grounds, some have been led to explain our Lord’s words as meaning, in figurative language the disciple would understand, that Peter was to catch the fish and sell it for a stater. Most interpreters, however, have been content to take our Lord’s words in their literal sense and to believe they were literally fulfilled. If we accept this view, the narrative has its parallel in the well-known story of the ring of Polycrates, the tyrant of Samos .