Ramadan, author and research fellow at Oxford University who in a cause célèbre has been repeatedly denied a visa to the U.S., presents a deft and timely call for radical change in the way Muslim scholars interpret and apply their central texts. Ramadan believes in an integrative approach—one that marries a re-invigorated theological, values-based approach with a spiritually realistic understanding of contemporary everyday problems. For instance, family planning through contraception is acceptable within Islam and also practical considering economic difficulties faced by Muslims in developing countries. Maintaining that Muslim scholars were once very open to creative approaches, he argues that they have now become more insular and less educated, especially in their views toward women. Ramadan's point—that the world continues to change and requires a second look at the Qur'an and other Islamic texts to keep pace—is well taken. His insistence that scientific findings are also part of God's revelation and should be included in Islamic analysis is consistent with the Qur'an. Ramadan's newest book is an exciting read because it envisions a way for Muslims to be modern without turning their backs on their religion. (Dec.)

Baggett, an associate professor of religion and society at the Jesuit School of Theology, Berkeley, Calif., takes on the term "cafeteria Catholic" in this study of American Catholics. He dislikes the description, commonly applied to liberal Catholics who select which church teachings they will accept, because of the suggestion such choices are made casually. His findings, based on interviews with 300 Catholics at six Bay Area parishes, show that most Catholics make similar selections and that they do so thoughtfully. He says Catholics live their faith by "negotiating with the broader tradition," reframing it through use of "evocative symbols" to create religious truths, and refreshing it by mingling Catholic symbols with cultural ones. Baggett quotes extensively from the interviews he and his team conducted and tallies the results in a series of charts, often comparing what he learned with the work of other researchers, especially sociologist Thomas O'Dea. His rather academic presentation will primarily interest other scholars and perhaps reform-minded church leaders, rather than the Catholic layperson. (Dec.)

Heavens be praised: here is a scientist who respects religion and relates it to the same impulse that drives scientific inquiry—an aspiration to the true and the real. Astrophysicist Frank is a lover of the skies with sufficient experience of awe to understand there's more than one way to tell the truth. His history of ideas is real science braided with myth and metaphor—the titular "constant fire" comes from poet Wallace Stevens. He's an engaging storyteller, as might be expected from someone who has published in Scientific American and Discover magazines. He can explain quantum physics and also dismiss woo-woo votaries who produce movies and books based on spurious science. He can relate mythic creation stories to the development of Big Bang theory. Light years beyond the stale standoff between uninspired scientific materialism and unscientific intelligent design, this vision of coexistence appreciates the heavenly music of the spheres. (Jan.)

A frequent contributor to Mennonite literary journals, Braun puts her strong, narrative voice toward telling the story of her Mennonite ancestors' treacherous migration from Russia to Canada—an attempt, she explains, "to seek meaning and order from history's chaos." A series of old photographs (included throughout, and reaching as far back as 1865) combined with notes from conversations with her father (undertaken for the purpose of writing this memoir) effectively frame this family portrait, which is also an opportunity for Braun to offer a broader portrait picture of Mennonite origins, life, and migration from Eastern Europe to North America. The occasional interruption of simple pleasures—a kiss before after an engagement, two boys taking a swim and seeing a motor boat—brighten what are otherwise bleak circumstances, determined by no-win "choices." Is it worse to be persecuted by Hitler or Stalin? Such are the options for Braun's family members. Readers looking for a window into Mennonite history, especially during World War II, will find Braun's quiet memoir satisfying. She fills a gap in the early twentieth century Mennonite story, albeit with what amounts to many years of pain, sadness, and unlikely—perhaps even miraculous—survival. (Nov.)

Thirty years ago in his seminal classic, The American Jeremiad, Sacvan Bercovitch elegantly identified the contours of this rhetorical form by observing that it joined social criticism to spiritual renewal, and he traced the American jeremiad from its origins in Europe's pulpits to its use in nineteenth-century America. Murphy picks up where Bercovitch left off in this workmanlike, though ultimately helpful, book, examining the jeremiad in Puritan New England, in antebellum and Civil War America, and in its use by the Christian right in the twentieth century. He observes that various public figures—from Jerry Falwell to Robert Kennedy—used the jeremiad to remind Americans that any despair they might feel over America's moral decline (whether in the Civil War or in the culture wars of the 1980s) can be balanced by the hope provided by the knowledge that God's providential work in human affairs can reverse such a decline. Murphy traces the historical development of the American jeremiad and usefully demonstrates the ways that this rhetorical thread weaves through our social fabric from the Puritans to 9/11. (Nov.)