The Legend of the Shekel.
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"IT is your turn now, Percival," said my aunt.
"Give us the Legend of the Shekel," I rejoined. "It is getting too dark
to examine your picture: but I remember it well. It represents a man,
apparently a poor one, clad in a common Jewish dress. He is gazing,
with wonder and delight, at some silver coin, which he holds in his
brown wrinkled palm. I have been trying in vain to recall any incident
in Scripture which would correspond with the picture."
"Surely," said my aunt, "Percival must have represented St. Peter with
the money found in the mouth of the fish."
"I thought of that at first," I observed. "But the man in the picture,
thin and weak in appearance, does not at all suit our idea of a hardy
fisherman: he looks more like a worn-out mechanic. Percival, you must
tell us what meaning you intended to convey."
Percival. The shekel is meant for that brought by the fish; but the man
in the picture is certainly not the Apostle.
Lady Mar. For whom then is this figure intended?
Percival as his reply repeated the following legend. I wrote it down
afterwards from memory, as it was not to be found amongst the papers
left by my friend.
The Legend of the Shekel.
When St. Peter, in obedience to the Master's command, had cast a hook
into the sea, and drawn forth a fish in whose mouth he found a shekel,
with which to pay the Temple tribute, his soul was filled with wonder.
How had that piece of silver come into the mouth of the quivering,
struggling creature, whose habitation had been the deep waters?
That silvery fish had, in some most mysterious manner, obeyed the
behest of its Creator; and St. Peter resolved to restore the wounded
creature to its native element.
"I will not take the life of the dumb fish that has ministered to the
Master's need," thought Peter, as he cast it back into the water. For a
moment, the shining scales glittered in the sunlight, then disappeared
under the waves.
The shekel was duly paid into the Temple treasury as the tribute-money
contributed by the Lord and His apostle.
In that treasury, under the care of the avaricious and worldly priests,
the money remained for awhile. They saw in it nothing remarkable;
it was merely, to them, a bright, newly-coined piece of silver,
resembling, in everything but its freshness, the thousands of shekels
that passed through their hands.
At last, for some needful work done in the Temple, the shekel was paid
out to a poor artisan, who thought at first that it had been hardly
earned by the labour of several days.
Michael, however, took the shekel without a murmur from the hand
of a pampered priest, who seemed almost to grudge the workman his
well-earned hire. Michael turned from the door of the Temple, which had
become a den of thieves; made his way amongst bleating flocks; passed
the gate of the money-changers; and would have turned his shekel into
smaller coin, had not conscience hindered the pious Jew from doing any
worldly business in precincts so holy.
"I will change my shekel elsewhere," said Michael to himself; "though I
am a little loth to part with one which looks so unsullied by the touch
of man."
Looking down at the money in his hand, Michael was amazed to behold on
it in letters distinct as if fresh from a dye, but extremely minute,
the first verse of the book of Psalms.
With wonder and delight Michael gazed on the marvellous coin; and as
he gazed his wonder increased. The words melted away before his eyes;
but no blank remained on the miraculous silver. The second verse of the
Psalm had succeeded the first; and this, in a few seconds, was followed
by the third: and so on to the end of the Psalm. The shining shekel,
won from the sea, was like a roll of the Holy Scriptures—Psalm after
Psalm, in regular progression, appearing on the small bright disc.
"Oh, marvellous! Most marvellous and blessed shekel!" exclaimed the
enraptured Michael. "Possessed of thee, I am the owner of inestimable
wealth! I would not part with thee for a thousand pieces of gold."
Michael saw a learned Scribe advancing towards him; and, eager to know
more of the nature of a thing of such miraculous virtue, the artisan
ran towards the interpreter of the law, and eagerly showed him the
piece of silver.
"What is this wonderful coin?" exclaimed Michael.
The Levite examined it, and a look of contempt came on his face. "Fool,
have you never seen a shekel before?" he enquired.
"Never such a one as this!" cried Michael.
"It is like any other shekel," said the Levite scornfully, and he
tossed it down in the dust.
It was only the eye of Faith that saw any special value, in that which
a miracle had produced.
"Did my eyes deceive me when I read verse after verse of God's Word
from that coin?" said Michael to himself, as he raised from the earth
his shekel, quite undimmed by the dust. "No, for another Psalm is
commenced. Blessed shekel! I desire to keep thee to my dying day, and
then have thee buried with me in my grave."
Michael kept to his resolution for some length of time. Each day, when
there came any pause in his work, he drank in comfort and instruction
from the words visible to him alone on his wonderful piece of silver.
They were the first thing which he studied when rising at dawn; and
when the sun set, he read till the light faded away. Then, kindling his
small earthen lamp, Michael still pursued his blessed study: never did
the minute characters engraved on the silver shine more brightly than
then.
And yet Michael did break his resolution; did part with his treasure!
And this was how it happened.
Partly from prophetic verses seen on his coin, but still more from
hearing the Divine Preacher Himself, Michael had become a devout
believer in the holy Jesus of Nazareth. One memorable day, Michael met
two of the Lord's followers, and heard them conversing together in
troubled tones.
"The Master commanded us to provide things needful for the feast," said
one; "and we have nothing wherewith to buy them. Judas hath the bag;
and we wot not whither he has gone. The day is wearing on, and there is
nothing ready for the Master."
"Surely God Himself will provide," said the other disciple.
Michael was a poor man, and knew not how to prepare the usual feast for
himself; for he had shrunk from spending his precious shekel. But here
the need was the Lord's; and should he not give to the Master of the
very best that he had? How could his precious coin be better bestowed?
So in lowly faith and love, the poor artisan gave his all to supply the
table of the dear Master. Michael little knew that he was paying for
the bread and wine which, at the Last Supper, should be distributed as
emblems of His own sacred body and blood by the Lamb about to be slain.
Michael was no loser by his free-will offering of love. All the words
which had before been engraven on the shekel were now clearly written
in his own heart, as if by the pen of an angel. A thousandfold blessed
was the man who had given what he most prized to the Lord.
And even of the fish that had unwittingly helped the Master, the legend
says that it had been reserved to be used again in His service. When
the disciples were gathered together after the Resurrection of Christ,
and their Lord appeared amongst them, the broiled fish which formed
part of the repast was that which had borne in its mouth to Peter the
wonderful shekel.
"I have been thinking," said I, as Percival concluded, "what kind of
moral one could draw from your legend, which one could imagine some
monk in the dark ages composing in his cell."
"To me it seems to convey the lesson that a blessing may be gained,
even by a surrender of some spiritual privileges for the service of the
Lord," said Lady Mar.
"The quiet, peaceful Sabbath evening given up for the Sabbath class
in some heated, crowded room; the congenial society of God's people
surrendered for that of rude, ignorant unbelievers, either at home or
abroad—such sacrifices are well-pleasing in His sight. Few earnest
followers of Him who left Heaven and its angels to toil amongst wicked
men but know something of what it is to surrender the precious shekel,
and gain a thousandfold in exchange."
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