Many of us know about King Tutankhamen, the "boy" pharaoh of the 18th dynasty of ancient Egypt.  The treasures of his tomb, unearthed at the city of Thebes in 1922, have made multiple circuits in museums around the world, amazing thousands of us with their dazzling array of material wonder.  We gasp at the opulence, we awe at the magnificence, we marvel at the thought of so much wealth in the hands of one who lived so long ago.
     Ironically, however, King Tut (as most of us call him) is not famous for who he was, a otherwise undistinguished son-in-law of the "heretic" pharaoh Akhenaten, nor is he famous for what he did, as militarily and politically he did very little, ascending to the throne at the age of twelve and dying six years later.  Indeed, all that King Tut is really remembered for, as many commentators have pointed out, is his treasure.  That's it.
    What about us?  Is our wealth that for which we wish to be most remembered?  Jesus tells the story, recorded in Luke 12, of a "certain" rich man who, because he had so much, so much that it astounded him, decides to build a host of storehouses to keep it.  And, he says to himself, "After I have built them, I will say to my soul, 'soul, you have many goods laid up for many years to come; take your ease; eat, drink, and be merry.'"
     Yet, Jesus says, that night, that very night the man died.
     Money is not bad (note that 1 Timothy 6 says not that money is evil, but that the love of money is evil), and money can do many good things, but well ought we wish to not be remembered for how much we have had of it.
     To wit:  make the memory of you just that:  you.